


to the well of stars and back [new version]

by shipwreckinabottle



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Rewrite, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:35:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23357095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipwreckinabottle/pseuds/shipwreckinabottle
Summary: "He is not the same as us," the man says, "Mon-El is our father's mad dog, set loose from his cage whenever diplomacy fails. The Harbinger of Death, as he is known. I hope you'll do well to tame him, Kara of Krypton."The twelve noble houses of Daxam are at war, and the only solution for the centuries of bloodshed and strife might take the form of an arranged marriage between a bastard prince from Daxam, and a Kryptonian girl from Earth.AU; Sci-fi / Arranged marriage.[new version]
Relationships: Kara Danvers & Mon-El, Kara Danvers/Mon-El
Comments: 149
Kudos: 159





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here we are again. 
> 
> This is a rewrite of my original "to the well of stars and back" story. Long story short, I’ve decided to return to the story after a three-year absence from the fandom (stopped watching the show around early s3 (2017~ish)). Decided to rewrite the story since it’s been quite a while since I’ve last worked on it and needed a “refresh”. Plus I’ve added in so much more to the earlier chapters that they can easily be an entirely new story now. 
> 
> Will remove the [new version] part of the title when word count / chapters overtake the older version :)
> 
> Enjoy! 
> 
> old version: 1871 words  
> new version: 2377 words

They came that day without warning.

A thunderous roar parted the heavens, and a legion of Daxamite warships descended into Earth’s orbit, obsidian armored platings turning the evening skies as black as night.

The billions below held their breaths together in a long, collective second of silence. Some in terror, others, an otherworldly awe. Then, the atmosphere shuddered, and the skies broke apart in blinding luminescence, raining down plasma-fire and death.

On the command bridge of a Daxamite imperial warship, amidst blaring system checks and bridge officers shouting firing options, a lone Daxamite soldier silently observed the destruction below. Plasma-burn reflected on their viewports, advanced weaponry tearing holes into the planet’s atmosphere, vaporizing clouds and burning craters into the cities below.

A familiar sight for the soldier; the fate of similar, countless worlds across eons, refusing fealty to the Holy Empire of Daxam. _They all fall like the rest_.

The ship lurched forward as rear thrusters recalibrated for descent. The grand viewports shifted from the blackness of space to a world once of green-blue, now in ash-fire and smoke. The ground came up, remnants of a fallen city, rubble and dust.

The Daxamite waited for the loading docks to clear before exiting the ship. As he stepped into the foreign air, a terrifying screech wailed across the skies, trailing shadows in its wake. He looked up, barely catching the tail end of a burning Daxamite warship seconds before it was consumed by a fiery eruption, sending the ground into an angry groan.

The Daxamite lifted his cloak against the outward blast of heat and dust. When the destruction settled and the ground stopped shaking, he looked towards the source of impact, and came across two other beings on the opposite end of the crater’s zone.

A man and a woman: clad in similar outfits of red and blue, an unfamiliar insignia worn upon their chests. They hovered over the wreckage of the burning warship; a dozen Daxamite soldiers laid motionless around them, some with their armors cracked, others with limbs twisted to unnatural angles.

A feat most impossible. The planet revolved around a yellow star. Daxamites were virtually invincible here. No Terran human should have been able to take on an enhanced Daxamite warrior. Much less a squadron, and even more so an entire warship.

 _Not Terran,_ the Daxamite suspected. A most interesting revelation.

He lifted his arm in a clasped fist, signaling to his ship. Boots crunched into soil as half a dozen of his men marched down the ramp and took up arms beside him; a battle formation, disciplined and well-trained. Then, he waited for the other two to make the first move.

The female did. She screamed, anger coursing through the battlefield, rubble cracking beneath her feet as she exploded into the air, lancing straight across the crater and smashing into the guard formation around him. The powerful impact destroyed the very ground they stood on, sending the majority of his men crashing into the structures below, showering them all with even more debris and dust. The sounds of combat quickly rang out across the battlefield.

The Daxamite in command, however, remained still, unflinching in the female’s attack. A headfirst strike was reckless and impulsive, and her anger spoke volumes of her lack of experience. She wasn’t the real threat. His men would handle her. It was the other person he needed to deal with.

The two of them clashed at the crater’s center, each reverberating blow sending booming shockwaves that shattered the surrounding rubble into dust. They were evenly matched, trading hits and drawing blood, but neither seeming to gain the upper hand.

Until one of the Daxamite soldiers behind them landed a stray hit on the female warrior, causing her to cry out in pain. Her male counterpart looked away, and that second of distraction was all the Daxamite needed. He lanced forward with superhuman speed, fist barreling into his foe’s unguarded side and shattering bones. The man staggered backwards, momentarily stunned—as the Daxamite launched up into the air, then flew forward with enough force to send his opponent spiraling all the way across the crater, smashing into a building and sending it all down around him. 

The man did not get up.

The Daxamite landed next to him, pulling the debris off and drawing a ceremonial dagger from his side. He pressed the blade against the man’s neck. “You have fought well. I will grant you an honorable death-”

The female smashed into him from behind, interrupting him mid-sentence. The two of them crashed through the wall beside him and fell into another building. Rubble rained down around them as he got up to his feet, just as her fist connected with the side of his face, sending him sprawling back down into the ground with a thunderous boom.

She gathered for another punch, but he caught her attack the second time round. He latched onto her arm mid-swing and deflected it to the side, using her own forward momentum to send her flying through the air. He leapt after her before she could regain balance, colliding into her in midair and sending them both crashing back down to the ground.

When the dust settled, his blade was pressed firm against her neck. “It’s over, you-”

Someone grabbed onto his shoulder from behind, “—stop.”

Interrupted for the second time, the Daxamite snarled and swung his weapon in a circular arc, not bothering to greet his newest foe—only for the other person to catch his arm in mid-arc, effectively blocking the attack.

“Stop,” the person said again, his voice dispassionate, grip unwavering. “Mon-El…” he said slowly, almost like a warning. His grip tightened, strength on the verge of crushing bones.

Mon-El stilled at the mention of his name. The bloodlust clouding his eyes dissipated as his blade retracted to his side. “Kar-Gand,” he sounded displeased with the other’s arrival. “Why… are you here?”

“An interesting development, Mon-El,” Kar-Gand said as he approached the fallen female. “We seem to have two Kryptonians in our midst.”

“Kryptonians?” Mon-El sounded unimpressed. “I thought they were extinct.”

Kar-Gand looked at their fallen foe in a most curious manner, “So did I, brother, so did I.”

The two Kryptonians were forced to their knees in the dirt, hands bound behind their backs in powered-cuffs strong enough to hold an equal Daxamite soldier in the presence of a yellow star. They were in a makeshift camp, surrounded by seven Daxamite soldiers in silvery war-armor and one, strangely, in a pair of extravagant, frilly robes.

“Kryptonians! Truly an honor o’ mine,” said the Daxamite in robes, looking quite out of place in a tent of soldiers. He spoke in fluent traditional Kryptonian, which, sharing ancestral roots with both the standardized simplified Kryptonian language and standard Daxamian dialect, was easily accessible to both their races.

“I’m Kar Av Gand, of the Noble House of Gand; Spear of the Holy Empire of Daxam.” He motioned to the man standing guard behind him. “My brother, Mon-El Av Daxam, with whom the two of you are already well acquainted with.”

Mon-El stood silent, arms clasped to his side, completely expressionless, the mannerisms of an obvious military background.

Neither Kryptonian spoke, and Kar-Gand continued, “I have to admit, I’m quite so interested in hearing the tales of your escape from the demise of Krypton… but first—I have to ask about your remaining defenses, especially in getting past that pesky force field around the planet’s northern hemisphere.”

When neither Kryptonian provided a response, Mon-El stepped forward with his dagger drawn. There was a flash of steel, and the blade glowed black as it tore into the male Kryptonian’s back. The Kryptonian grunted as he fell forward, blood seeping into the soil below.

“Stop! —Please!” the female Kryptonian cried out. She tried to get up to her feet as Mon-El carved into the other Kryptonian’s flesh, only to be forced back down onto her knees by the Daxamite guards around her. “I’ll… I’ll tell you everything! Just stop hurting him! —Please!”

“N-No… Kara… D-don’t…” croaked the other Kryptonian. “D-Don’t tell them anything.”

Mon-El twisted the blade further, and the Kryptonian screamed in pain, his body convulsing into the muddy ground.

A warm smile twisted Kar-Gand’s lips at the sight. “Well then, Kara of Krypton,” he said, picking up her name and greeting her in a tone as if they were old friends and not in the midst of torture. “Are you ready to answer my questions?”

“I… I am,” her face was filled with distress. “Please, you’re killing him!”

Kar-Gand nodded at Mon-El, who then pulled out the blade, wiping the blood clean across the Kryptonian’s cape like a dirty rag before retreating to the back of the tent. “Get him some direct starlight,” he mentioned to one of the guards, who proceeded to drag the male Kryptonian out of the tent and into the open.

“I thought Kryptonians were extinct,” Kar-Gand turned his attention back to the female Kryptonian, seeming to have forgotten all about both the other Kryptonian and his previous line of questioning about the force field, or perhaps no longer cared. “How are you alive?”

“E-Escape pods,” the Kryptonian’s voice was shaking.

“Pods that outran the chain nuclear explosions?”

“Yes… our parents were prepared for that day.”

“What about themselves?”

“There… wasn’t enough time.”

“A tragedy,” Kar-Gand shrugged, though without a single shred of visible pity. “The greatest minds of Krypton, all gone in an instance. A miracle you survived, Princess of Krypton.”

The female Kryptonian blinked, obviously caught off guard by his statement. “I-… I’m not a princess.”

“But you are,” Kar-Gand pointed at the symbol branded across her chest. “I had my suspicions at first, but now I’m sure. You wear the crest of the House of El, descendants of Jor-El the First, Supreme Commander of the first Kryptonian Hyperspace Fleet. I know my ancient history well, Kara Zor-El of Krypton... and our scans of your sigil did the rest.”

“You are mistaken. Krypton was a democracy, there were no princesses,” said the Kryptonian.

Kar-Gand’s smile only grew wider. “Yes, but Krypton is no more, and as the House of El was once a ruling noble family, by the Ascension Laws of the Holy Empire of Daxam, that makes you, Kara Zor-El, the last princess of Krypton!”

The Kryptonian was quiet for a long moment. “I… I don’t… What is your point, Daxamite?”

“Do you care about this inferior planet, Kara Zor-El?” Kar-Gand asked.

“Yes, I do,” she nodded. “More than anything else.”

“Then you will do anything to prevent it’s destruction?”

“I will,” her answer was absolute.

“If so, I offer you an alternative, Kara of Krypton. One that will ensure the safety of your world.”

Mon-El stepped forward, like he was about to object. But Kar-Gand silenced him with a lift of his hand.

“What-… What if I refuse?” there was no mistaking the desperation laced between the Kryptonian’s words.

“Then we shall continue with torture until we get the necessary information to destroy Earth’s remaining defenses. A crude and rudimentary process, but nonetheless a process that gets the job done,” Kar-Gand answered indifferently. “If the two of you die before we procure the desired information, then we shall simply continue with our bombardment until your shields falter and eventually break. It may take us a few more days, but the results shall be the same. It is only a delay of the inevitable.”

The Kryptonian’s head drooped downwards in defeat. “What do you want?”

“A unionship between our races,” Kar-Gand said gleefully. “A political marriage between a princess of Krypton and a prince of Daxam. Accept, and I shall spare this pathetic waste of a rock you call home.”

The Daxamite warship left the planet’s atmosphere, thrusters restabilizing as they entered orbit. The doors to the command bridge sild open with a loud hiss, and the nearby guards all tensed in attention as Mon-El marched into the room.

He stomped towards Kar-Gand, grabbing the older Daxamite by the collar and shoving him against the wall. “What is the meaning of this, Kar-Gand!?” Mon-El seethed. “We had our orders!”

Mon-El’s grip tightened, but Kar-Gand remained without the slightest hint of distress. “That was before we found the Kryptonians, dear brother o’ mine.”

“Father’s orders are absolute!” Mon-El did not back off. “You choose to defy him… to spare this planet… because of Kryptonian refugees?!”

Kar-Gand laughed, “You are too narrow minded, brother.”

“Then explain it to me,” Mon-El snarled. “ _Brother_.”

Kar-Gand grabbed onto Mon-El’s arm and peeled it off his neck, “Open your eyes, Mon-El! The Holy Throne of Daxam is finally within reach. The princess is the key!”

“Her!?” Mon-El was exasperated. “A princess without a kingdom?!”

“Again, with the narrow mindedness, Mon-El. You truly do lack the patience for politics,” Kar-Gand sighed, trying to straighten the robes that Mon-El had scrunched in their scuffle. “I’m referring to her bloodline! Krypton may be no more, but pure Kryptonian blood still runs strong within her!”

“What good is Kryptonian blood to us?!”

“A cause… for an uprising,” Kar-Gand looked out of the grand viewports as their fleet passed by one of the inhabited Daxamite worlds. “Only a queen of noble Kryptonian blood can reunite all the outworld tribes. With them fighting under our banner, the other houses will crumble, and victory for the Holy Throne shall be all but assured!”

“And why would she help you accomplish any of that?” Mon-El asked.

“To ensure the safety of her world. Not of her lost birthworld, no, but this… Earth of hers. She has this… unusual attachment to the planet. I believe she’ll do anything to prevent it’s destruction.”

Mon-El thought for a long second. “What about your betrothment to the Duchess of Bryak? Father spent many moons negotiating that treaty.”

“My betrothment to the duchess shall still proceed as planned, the alliance is not one we can do without, for the battles to come,” Kar-Gand’s lips curled in a most playful manner as his hands clasped around his younger brother’s shoulders. “The unionship is not meant for me, _brother_. It is you, Mon-El, who shall take the last princess of Krypton as wife!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rewrite not beta-ed let me know if you spot any mistakes
> 
> as usual, if you'd like to see story-update-progresses, little snippets of next chapters, or if you'd like to talk about my stories, tv shows, or just life in general, you can find me @ shipwreckinabottle on tumblr.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daxam = home planet of Daxamites.  
> Daxamlos = the moon which the House of Gand resides.  
> Coluans = an alien race with advanced technology and superior intelligence. Similar to Indigo / Brainiac-8 from season 1.  
> Branx = an alien race with behemoth-like warriors, mostly working as arms-for-hire.  
> Well of Stars = an area of clustered stars, their close proximity creating a powerful pull of gravity that slows down time in that area.  
> Nth-Metal = a rare metal with gravity negating properties.  
> Starlarium = similar to a solarium, except for the viewing of stars. 
> 
> old version: 3527 words  
> new version: 4460 words

Kara counted at least twenty guards onboard the Daxamite warship, not including the additional four marching her towards the command bridge. Three more stood by the entrance, their posture impassive and silent, bringing the total visible count up to twenty-seven. And that wasn’t including the further, unknown number within said bridge, either.

The doors hissed open as she was shoved onto the command bridge: a large room covered with gigantic monitor screens and grandly constructed viewports; beyond the viewports, a constellation of stars burned brightly in the distance, caressed by the pale silhouette of a passing moon.

The yellow sun, still visible in distance, gave her superhuman strength. But Kara knew it wasn’t enough. Kryptonians and Daxamites shared the same genetic markers, the same physiology; they were equally strong in the presence of a yellow star, and she was still outnumbered at a minimum of at least twenty-seven to one.

She was led past rows of flight technicians working small to large screens of sorts, and up to an observatory deck. As her group proceeded up the steps, she noticed someone else coming down the other way.

She recognized him immediately. The Daxamite who’d fought and almost killed her cousin, the same who’d struck his dagger into Kal-El’s back. It wasn’t a face she’d forget anytime soon.

 _Mon-El Av Daxam_.

Anger surged through her chest, threatening to break free. It took all Kara could to stop herself from doing something reckless. She wanted to run in his direction, to make him feel all the pain that she did, screw the consequences of her actions.

But at the same time, with Earth’s very survival still hanging in the balance, she knew there was absolutely nothing she could do, but offer her complete compliance with everything else that was happening, even with the person who’d almost murdered her cousin about to cross her path.

Still, she looked up as they passed the other, wanting him to feel her fury—and for a single instance, their eyes met—hers in controlled anger, his completely impassive, almost lazy, features an inscrutable blank.

They marched her to where Kar-Gand was waiting, arms crossed behind his back underneath the panoramic overhead viewports; he stood tall, yet looked minuscule against the backdrop of space, like an insignificant speck of stardust, sprinkled across an endless expanse of black.

She knew Kar-Gand and Mon-El were brothers, yet from what she’d seen of them—they were almost nothing alike.

Mon-El was clearly battle-hardened. His posture was formidable, well-trained, and there was something quiet and intense about him, reminding her of a coiled beast, ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

Kar-Gand, on the other hand, seemed to be the complete opposite. His posture was relaxed and exaggerated, his body lankier and less tense, not as formidable, with a sickly paleness to his skin, like an age-old illness that’d long sank its claws into his soul and refused to let go.

Yet, there was no vulnerability in Kar-Gand’s perceived frailness, and from the deadly aura he emitted, Kara easily suspected that he was the more dangerous sibling of the two.

“We’re soon to arrive on Daxamlos,” Kar-Gand greeted her with a bow. “It is where the House of Gand resided after the hundred-year.”

Kara looked out of the dizzying viewports that stretched all around them. It took her a second to recognize the constellations. “We’re at the Well of Stars?” she asked in surprise. “But I thought…”

“Daxamlos is a moon that orbits the edge of the Well’s gravitational pull. Close enough to be hidden from our enemies’ long-range scanners, and still far enough to be unaffected by the relative loss of time. It is where you will reside until the day of union,” Kar-Gand explained.

Kara looked away, in the direction of where she knew Earth to be. As expected, it was now too far to be seen in the distance, but from the tugging in her heart, she knew exactly where her home was. “If we were to go through with this… this union. You will uphold our deal? And leave Earth alone?”

“A deal is a deal,” Kar-Gand shrugged. “We live in different societies, but on Daxam, the word of a noble family is their bond, their right to rule. Take away the bond, our honor, and what are we but savages.”

Kara knew from past studies that Daxam was a civilization built upon archaic notions of honor, privilege, and power. As much as she disagreed with their traditions, she knew his words to be true. For an entire civilization shaped across millennia by their perceived notions of honor, losing that honor was no different than having forfeited their lives.

She could take his word for it.

She studied the man before her. “So… you’re the crowned prince of Daxam? I’m afraid I’m not too familiar with your planet’s history, much less of recent news.”

“Yes and no,” Kar-Gand said. “Daxam has been without a ruling family for centuries. There was the uprising, followed by the civil war which lasted over a hundred-years, and now, twelve noble houses remain engaged in bloody war for the Holy Throne. The House of Gand is one of them. I am a prince of Daxam, but only in title, and one of many. But with your help, I believe ascension is only a matter of time… and a lot of scheming.”

“My help? For the throne?” Kara was visibly confused. “What can our betrothment possibly achieve? Krypton is gone, and there is nothing I can—"

“There is a lot more to you than you think, Kara of Krypton,” Kar-Gand smiled. “But, fret not, that is nothing for you to worry about for now, all shall come in due time.” He paused, then said, “And no, your betrothal is not to me, but my brother, Mon-El.”

Kara tensed at the mention of that name. “Mon-El… he’s the one who—” she caught herself before accidentally saying something that might offend Kar-Gand. “He-… He’s the other Prince of Gand.”

Much to Kara’s surprise, Kar-Gand erupted in laughter. “Yes, Kara of Krypton, Mon-El is my father’s son, but he’s hardly the…” his voice caught, and something changed in his eyes. But then he blinked, and it was gone. “Yes… Mon-El is also a prince, but he is… _Raosc`Ehra._ ”

“Raosc`Ehra?” Kara asked. Daxamian was similar to traditional Kryptonian, but their languages had widely differed over the millenniums. “A… lost son? I do not understand.”

“A…-” Kar-Gand looked away for a second, like he was searching for a similar word in her vocabulary, “…-King’s bastard. A child borne not of wedlock, but a father’s transgressions.”

He paused as an overhead announcement broadcasted their final approach to Daxamlos.

When the announcement ended, Kar-Gand looked towards Kara a final time and said, “Mon-El is not the same as us. He is our father’s mad dog, set loose from his cage whenever diplomacy fails. The Harbinger of Death, as he is known. I hope you’ll do well to tame him, Kara of Krypton.”

Then he was gone, leaving Kara alone on the observatory deck with nothing but the stars and her thoughts, until the guards returned.

The spaceport was an orbiting space-platform hidden within the magnetic storms brewing across Daxamlos’ atmosphere. Kara was escorted from the ship down to a docking bay, where she was told a shuttle would soon arrive to ferry her to the moon’s surface.

She stood there awkwardly, waiting for whatever else came next, when she noticed the arrival of a most unusual pair.

A young Coluan female emerged from one of the station’s lifts. She seemed no older than her young teens, with skin as green as the grass in spring. Walking alongside her was a mountainous Branx, almost as tall as two Terran males and as wide as three. His skin was hardened and gray, and fangs protruded like twin-blades from the side of his face.

The green-skinned female bowed as they approached Kara. “Your Highness,” she spoke in perfect Terran-English, while nudging the Branx, who then bowed as well, albeit a lot more clumsily than his Coluan counterpart.

Kara took a long look around the massive, empty hanger before turning back to the two strangers. “Are you… referring to me?” she whispered.

“Yes, Your Highness,” the girl nodded. “My name is Lyra-814, an Eighth-Level A.I intellect from the planet of Colu. Next to me is X’Garr, a Branx from the planet of Emana Branx. I’ve been assigned to assist you with your acclimation to Daxamite culture, while X’Garr’s been assigned as your security.”

The bigger alien grunted at the mention of his name.

Lyra continued, “As an Eighth-Level intellect, I’m functionally equipped to handle any and all of your intellectual needs, should the need arise, alongside any further questions and inquiries you may have. Think of me as your personal tour guide, or an encyclopedia, or perhaps a translation device, if you so wish, or so desire.” She tilted her head towards X’Garr. “As you may have noticed, Daxamlos does not orbit a yellow star. Thus, in the absence of your powers, X’Garr has been assigned to function as your temporary bodyguard.” 

X’Garr grunted again at the mention of his name.

Kara, at a momentary loss for words, could only stare at the two in front of her. For some reason, she’d only expected to meet adversarial Daxamites; enemies that were hostile to her planet and easy to despise. It seemed she might be wrong.

When she realized that Lyra and X’Garr were still in mid-bow, Kara quickly said, “Please, you don’t have to bow. And just Kara will do.”

Lyra quickly shook her head in disagreement. “Your Highness, that would be extremely inappropriate,” she said, like it was preposterous for Kara to even suggest such a heinous act.

X’Garr grunted in agreement.

“Well, I insist,” Kara said, taking Lyra’s hands into hers. “Nice to meet you, Lyra.” Then she turned to the massive alien, who stood almost three heads taller, requiring Kara to tilt her head upwards to catch his eyes. “And… uh… you too, X’Garr.” 

X’Garr grunted. Though Kara wasn’t so sure if it was still in agreement this time round.

The circular orbs on Lyra’s cranium turned an immediate shade of red. She looked down at her hands, as though her programming couldn’t compute Kara’s current course of action. “I… I’m…” she stuttered weakly, before changing the subject. “W-Would you like to know more about Daxamlos?”

Kara nodded, deciding that learning more about the place she was in was significantly more important than trying to get her two new acquaintances to drop her _very_ non-existent (in Kryptonian culture anyways) title.

Lyra’s cranial orbs started to flash an even brighter shade of red, which, Kara knew from past interactions with alien visitors of Lyra’s race, was the Coluan’s way of accessing their cranial databanks, a network said to contain vast collections of all recorded data across the known galaxy. Which also explained her proficiency in the English language.

“Daxamlos is an ellipsoidal moon, the third largest in the Alliestunal system,” Lyra began to explain. “It orbits the gravitational pull of the Well of Stars. Each Day/Night rotation lasts an estimated twenty-seven Earth hours. Compared to Earth’s moon, Daxamlos is 23% bigger in diameter and 52% more massive. The atmospheric content is rich in nitrogen, along with traces of methane, argon, helium, and cyanogen. None of which is breathable for a Kryptonian such as yourself.”

Next, Lyra pointed to a nearby pillar, where the familiar crest of House Gand was etched upon: a reversed arch with Daxamian lettering down its center, colors of red, black, and silver. “Daxamlos was uninhabited until the discovery of its Nth-metal lake by Aoer Av Gand the Third, who, after harvesting the precious metals, overthrew the ruling house of Felthiam, absorbing their assets and forming the House of Gand. The Gand compound covers 32% of the moon’s surface, spanning an impressive five-point-nine million square miles.”

The shuttle arrived just as Lyra finished with her commentary.

The pilot exited and bowed before Kara, “Your Highness, we’re to bring you to the Gand Estate.”

Before Kara could say anything else, two Daxamite guards appeared and ushered her into the shuttle. Lyra and X’Garr followed, the latter requiring a few additional squeezes to fit himself through the smaller entrance.

Kara took the window seat as the shuttle took off smoothly, leaving the space station behind and starting its descent onto the moon’s surface. The rumbling magnetic storms soon gave way to grey and barren lands, lifeless as far her eyes could see.

They passed by hundreds of colossal structures, all industrial in design, likely for harvesting the precious minerals beneath the moon’s surface.

Kara knew of Nth-metal’s gravity negating properties. In fact, most technologically advanced civilizations with FTL (faster-than-light) travel did. Nth-metal was an extremely rare transuranic iron, said to be found only in the smallest amounts in the deepest Thanagarian mines and, in its liquid state, the fuel that powered gravitational slipstream drives, allowing starships to travel lightyears of distance in less than seconds.

Strangely however, was that there was no record of a depository ever being found off-world, much less on a Daxamite moon. A well-kept secret of House Gand, it would seem.

Not long after, the shuttle cleared the industrial structures, and came upon a massive domelike building, the largest of which Kara had ever seen. Opaque in design and completely white in color, the dome stretched on for hundreds of miles and—as Lyra had explained along the way—was where the moon’s essential functions operated, and where most of the mining operations were held after harvest, most of it automated.

The shuttle docked and the group entered into a multitude of hallways and corridors. Kara followed her two guides as they proceeded deeper into the dome. Other than the occasional hum of a passing worker-drone, there wasn’t a single other living soul in sight.

Their journey took them close to an hour before arriving at a heavily guarded door. Half a dozen Daxamite soldiers stood guard at attention, weapons poised at the ready. Above them, the crest of House Gand was etched into the doorway.

Lyra approached the guards, the difference in their height making her seem like a small child approaching a pack of lions. Barely acknowledging their presence, she walked to the biometric scanner next to the doorway, tiptoeing just enough to place her palm onto the machine.

The scanner beeped and the light turned green as the locked doorway disengaged, sliding open for Kara’s group.

Kara stepped through the entranceway—and came upon a most incredible sight.

She stood at the precipice of a natural canyon, the sharp drop below leading to a lake of jagged rocks and silver metal. In the canyon’s center, connected to where they stood by a long, translucent bridge, rose a colossal structure that spiraled high into the heavens, piercing through the magnetic clouds.

The three of them crossed the bridge, Kara with slightly shaky legs, trying her best not to look down at the thousand feet drop below; without a yellow star in the system, falling over would surely mean death.

There were no guards at the tower’s entrance, but at least three additional layers of security, which Lyra bypassed with a scan of her palm, her eyes, then her cranial orbs.

A doorway emerged from the structure’s smooth surface, leading to an elevator with only a single button: up.

It was a quiet journey to the top, and when they arrived on the specified floor, the view was again nothing short of spectacular.

It was like they’d left the moon behind and stepped into another world. Whereas Kara’s journey from the ship had taken her through a rather inconspicuous environment, with buildings all industrial in design and operated by machineries and worker-drones, the interior of the tower was anything but utilitarian.

The lobby was furnished like an elegant palace, with crystal chandeliers hanging from the towering ceilings above, held up by ostentatiously detailed pillars; the walls were swathed in layers of dazzling colors, like the rose windows of a cathedral, bathing the hallways in hues of radiant light.

They headed up a set of double-staircases, and Kara marveled at the details and colors all around her—some in shades she’d never seen before, others her brain couldn’t even comprehend. Like swirling wisps of incredulity, the colors changing and settling with each blink of her eye.

They passed by grandiose hallways and glided paintings of art, which again, like the dome before, were completely empty. Yet, the place was pristine and well-maintained, without blemish nor even a single speck of visible dust.

They eventually stopped before a locked room.

“Your Highness,” Lyra bowed. “Your room is already fully synced to your biometrics.”

Kara was still uncomfortable with being addressed in such a manner, but seeing how adamant Lyra was, decided not to pursue it for now. Though she certainly wasn’t going to let go of it when the time came. A battle for another day.

Stepping forward, she placed her palm against the lockpad, which beeped after a quick second. The doors slid open, revealing a spacious living space furnished with grand furniture; comfortable and elegant, like the suite of a high-tech alien hotel, and at the same time, without even a hint of personal touch.

Lyra pointed to a nearby intercom. “For whenever you need us. We’re always at your service,” she bowed a final time, alongside X’Garr, and the doors closed behind them. 

Kara leaned against the doorway for a long moment. It was the first time she’d been left alone since her surrender back on Earth, and the silence was deafening. The place was a lot quieter than she’d imagined, and for the longest time, she stood there without moving, silently fighting against the growing waves of lassitude threatening her towards unseen depths.

It was a battle she quickly lost. Now that she was finally alone, all pretense of coping, of appearing strong in the face of her adversaries—came to a shattering end, leaving her vulnerable and completely exposed to the enormity of her situation. She only managed a few steps into the bedroom before a powerful shudder sent her down to her knees. She retched as nausea flooded her every senses.

_She was taken away from Earth._

_Taken away from the people, the family she loved._

_Forced into marriage with a man she didn’t know._

_The same man who’d attacked her home planet and almost murdered her cousin._

_She had no friends here._

_She was alone._

_So completely, utterly alone._

The emotions she’d been holding back the last few hours crashed into her like a tidal wave, overcoming her every thought. Her hands couldn’t stop shaking, and in the minutes to come, exhaustion slipped in and took her away.

_Bzzt… Bzzt…_

Kara came to the sounds of a buzzing intercom. She found herself curled-up by the side of an unfamiliar room, her thoughts jumbled, barely functioning. She laid there for a long moment, staring blankly at the ceiling, until events of the last few days all came rushing back.

Slowly, she shifted into an upright position, knuckles pressed firmly into her temples. She felt completely drained, both physically and mentally. A deep, settling exhaustion that couldn’t be overcome with sleep, a sense of weariness that crept even into her bones. It was an unfamiliar sensation, like waking into a hangover so jarring, so disorientating, that she couldn’t tell the ceiling from the floor.

There wasn’t a visible Day/Night cycle on the moon, but the dimmer surroundings indicated that she’d likely slept till the later evening. Eventually, she pulled herself up from the ground, walked over to the lockpad and fumbled with the controls before managing to unlock the doors.

Lyra stood outside. “Your Highness,” she greeted Kara with a bow. “Your presence is requested at dinner. I’m here to help with your preparations.”

“Preparations?” Kara asked.

Lyra nodded and stepped past Kara into the bedroom. She opened a nearby closet, revealing the abundance of clothing neatly packed inside. “You’re not exactly dressed for the occasion.”

“What’s wrong with my clothing?” Kara, still wearing her Supergirl outfit, asked.

“It’s not exactly… customary,” Lyra said, as she took out a revealing red dress with barely any fabric and a lot of straps, much to Kara’s horror, then relief, as the Coluan eventually shook her head and tossed it aside. “That won’t do at all.”

Temporarily leaving Lyra to her own devices, Kara left the bedroom and stepped into the bathroom. The place was spacious, walls and floors covered in marbled tiles; a grand shower constructed at its center, with plenty of clean towels and a rack of bottled soap.

“Umm, Lyra?” Kara asked. “Do you mind if I take a quick shower first?”

“Not at all, Your Highness,” came her response.

Kara undid her clothing carefully, slipping out of her boots before folding her cape into a neat stack by the sink. Then, she stepped into the shower, wondering where the temperature controls were when a stream of water rained down from the showerhead, pattering like rainwater onto the marbled floor.

She dipped a toe into the water, finding the temperature absolutely perfect, which reminded her of when Lyra had said that the room was perfectly synced to her biometrics. She stepped into the water and sighed at its touch upon her skin; it felt liberating, cleansing away the dirt and her worries. 

It was cathartic. Her slumber freed her from her emotions, but while remnants of it still hung over her head like angry clouds refusing to dissipate, it was the shower that truly washed them away. She stood underneath the stream of water for long minutes, relishing the feel of warm water running down her torso, eyes closing as her faced tilted towards the spray, letting it thrum against her tired eyelids.

When Kara eventually left the bathroom, a clean towel wrapped around herself, Lyra had already left, but not before leaving a mixture of clothing placed neatly on the bed.

The dress caught Kara’s eye almost immediately: it was a long dinner dress, modesty covered, in shades of blue that ran down to her ankles. The design was simple; demure, but pretty. The patterns and synthetic-weaving were similar to those of Kryptonian fashion, and the fabric felt familiar underneath her fingertips, likely synthesized from a specific strain of cotton found only on Daxam and Krypton.

It reminded Kara of something her mother would wear, and the memory brought a smile to her lips. Perhaps the very first since she’d left Earth. She clutched the dress to her chest, fiercely finding those memories and holding tight onto them.

Kara had to admit, her Coluan attendant had good taste.

After she changed into the outfit, which unsurprisingly, was a perfect fit, Kara found Lyra and X’Garr both already waiting outside her room.

“They await you at the Room of Stars,” Lyra said.

“Room of Stars?” Kara asked.

Lyra nodded. “The Room of Stars is a starlarium located on the top floor of the Gand Tower, similar to solariums found on your Earth. Due to the constant magnetic storms from the strong gravitational pull of the Well of Stars, there isn’t a chance of seeing the passing stars from the moon’s surface. However, because of the building’s massive height, there is but a single floor which stands just above the storm’s surface, granting its occupants full view of the Well of Stars, which I’ve heard—is beyond magnificent, thus the aptly named—Room of Stars.”

“Heard?” Kara asked, wondering about her choice of words.

“Only those of noble blood, or esteemed guests, are allowed entry into the Room of Stars. That disqualifies me and X’Garr,” Lyra said as her alien companion grunted in agreement.

It was a long ride to the top floor. The transparent viewports showed the moon’s surface slowly disappearing into the massive storm clouds, bringing them into a world of darkness and occasional lightning, then passing through and into the black, protective plating of the outer tower.

There was only a single hallway on the top floor, leading to a pair of massive doors. Kara started walking in the direction of the doorway, until realizing that Lyra and X’Garr had both remained inside the waiting elevator.

“This is as far as we’re permitted to go,” Lyra said. “We’ll await your return, Your Highness.”

With only a single pathway left before her, Kara had no choice but to proceed onwards, coming to a stop in front of the heavyset doorway. Gigantic gearing systems kept the entrance shut, and without neither a doorknob nor a lockpad, she was left wondering if she was supposed to knock, until a loud rumble came from within.

Kara took a step back as the gears started to whirl, slowly sliding apart and revealing the entryway into the Room of Stars.

The room was domelike in structure, made completely of transparent shielding, granting its occupants a full view of the outside space, where millions of visible stars shone like scattered embers, setting the room alight in warm luminescence. There was no source of artificial lighting in the room, the natural illumination gathered solely from the Well of Stars.

_A room of actual starlight._

A long dining table sat at the center of the room, one that could hold dozens in the event of a grand feast. But on this day, sat only four: Kar-Gand, Mon-El, and two others which whom Kara was yet to be acquainted.

The man seated beside Kar-Gand, opposite from Mon-El, was at least a whole head taller than the rest of them, his body rippling with massive muscles. When he turned towards Kara, she saw a deep scar running down the side of his face, from the top of his head through a sunken eye as grey as it was lifeless and down through the side of his lips, leaving him in something of a perpetual sneer.

An older man sat at the table’s end, his hair ash-grey with age, but his posture nothing less than impressive. He followed Kara’s every step with an unnerving gaze, eyes that were as imposing as they were fearsome. He radiated a terrifying aura of power, and the royal crest of Daxam shone brightly around his neck, reflecting nearby starlight as though it was drawing power directly from the source.

The presence of the four men sent an immediate surge of adrenaline through Kara’s veins, causing the hairs at the back of her neck to stand.

This was no normal dinner.

The time for vulnerability had passed.

It was now time to enter the lion’s den.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rewrite not beta-ed let me know if you spot any mistakes
> 
> as usual, if you'd like to see story-update-progresses, little snippets of next chapters, or if you'd like to talk about my stories, tv shows, or just life in general, you can find me @ shipwreckinabottle on tumblr.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably my favorite and most worked-on chapter for the rewrite thus far. 
> 
> old version: 1455 words  
> new version: 2992 words

At her arrival, Kar-Gand stood, arms sweeping wide, resplendent green robes fluttering in the echoes of starlight. “Kara Zor-El, the last princess of Krypton!” he announced, with an exaggerated, booming voice, like an excited collector, parading his rare find to the rest of the audience.

Kara took a moment to compose herself, fully taking in her surroundings and steadying her breathing, before approaching the table where the men of Gand awaited.

Kar-Gand offered her a seat—right next to Mon-El. She settled in, hands clenching together underneath the table, posture completely straight, eyes forward. She felt her companion prince’s gaze burning into her side, but she refused his eyes; she owed him nothing, not even acknowledgement.

Kar-Gand chuckled at the silence that followed. “Let me introduce you to my family.”

He put his arms around the Daxamite seated next to him, though barely able to wrap around the other man’s much wider shoulders. “My second brother, Zorgnith Av Gand, Lord Praetor of Gand’s Imperial Might, Blazer of the Grasslands Rebellion, and Hellhound of the Eastern Sands; Spear of the Holy Empire of Daxam.”

Following that, Kar-Gand gestured to the older Daxamite seated at the end of the table, his introduction accompanied with a deep bow, “Dearest Father, Kell’riv Av Gand the Starkiller, Lord Imperator of Gand’s Hyperspace Fleet, War-Ender of the Versallion Systems; Imperial Spear of the Holy Empire of Daxam.”

All four pairs of Daxamite eyes turned in Kara’s direction, which she took as her own turn to introduce herself. Assuming their outlandish titles were all accomplishments of sorts, Kara stood up and bowed, “Kara Zor-El Danvers, of Krypton and Earth, Supergirl, DEO Agent and… umm… reporter at CatCo Worldwide Media?”

Zorgnith-Gand was the first to speak after her introduction. “You are Kryptonian,” he said, the scar that twisted his perpetual sneer anything but friendly. “I’ve hunted and killed my fair share of Kryptonians. But only half-blooded descendants, none quite as powerful as a pure-blooded specimen such as yourself.”

 _Specimen_. A colorful choice of a word. But Kara wasn’t surprised, though. Daxamites were known to be an anthropocentric race; they believed themselves to be the central and most important entity in the known universe. Add along an unhealthy dose of xenophobia, which admittedly—could’ve originated from her Kryptonian ancestors—led to the inception of people such as Zorgnith-Gand, who clearly, in her limited knowledge, subscribed to the church of Daxam supremacy.

“No yellow star in this system, Kryptonian,” Zorgnith continued, the perpetual-sneer never quite leaving his features. The dining knife flickered between his fingers, movements too fast to follow, though his intentions easily enough. “Wounds don’t quite heal the same.”

Kara sighed inwardly. As much as the optimists like to believe, prejudice and discrimination wasn’t uniquely a Terran trait, and beings with such outlooks on life certainly weren’t only found on Earth. Even “advanced-civilizations” with spacefaring technology and Faster-than-light capabilities, hundreds of lightyears from Earth, had their own bullies.

And like the plenty of bullies she’d faced before, it was obvious he was trying to provoke her, to force a reaction of some kind. But she knew better than to give him what he wanted. She refused to take the bait. So, instead of a response, she offered him only a cordial smile in return, nothing more.

A few awkward seconds passed.

Zorgnith continued to stare dumbly at her while Kara continued to smile, until Kar-Gand—presumably catching on to what was happening, burst out in laughter. Zorgnith turned to his brother, confused for a moment, before annoyance settled into his wrecked features, clearly exacerbated by Kar-Gand’s outburst.

He eventually shrugged, as if relenting and choosing to let the moment pass. Then, without warning, his arm shot forward in a sudden blur of speed, releasing the dinner knife straight in Kara’s direction.

Kara could only jolt backwards in shock, too slow, too surprised to do anything else. She blinked, and in the quarter of a second that passed, she found the knife’s tip coming to a stop inches from her left eye, so close she could see her own terrified reaction in its silvery glint, hilt in a tight grip by Mon-El’s hand.

Mon-El had caught the knife in mid-throw. Zorgnith’s entire attack had lasted less than a blink, so abruptly over that she couldn’t even grasp what had happened till it ended.

With a flick of his wrist, Mon-El sent the blade flying back in Zorgnith’s direction. The knife came up short, striking it into the table instead, buried into stone from blade down to hilt. “Zorgnith…” Mon-El’s voice was low, a warning like the knife itself.

But instead of backing off, Zorgnith’s sneer only grew wider, the scarring around his ruined lips turning into a demented grin that tracked up one side of his face. “Brother… not even done with the ceremony and already protecting the little Kryptonian.” He gripped the knife-hilt and freed it from the table. “Truly, I am pleased to see your journeys have not dulled your reflexes.” 

_“Truly, I am pleased to see your journeys have not dulled your reflexes.”_

It then occurred to Kara that Zorgnith had sent the knife flying in her direction fully expecting Mon-El to catch the knife, even if missing, or just mistiming the catch meant having her head skewered against the back of her seat. She was horror-struck by the thought, and her hands squeezed into her dress, so tightly on the verge of tearing fabric.

If she wasn’t sure enough of her role as a pawn in the endless power machinations in the House of Gand, this act of terror surely struck it true. It wasn’t a nightmare. It was real, all of it.

Mon-El seemed to have noticed her horrified reaction, as his eyes trailed from her face down to her trembling hands, which she tried to hide to no avail. His lips twitched, as if on the verge of saying something, when Zorgnith let loose a deep, bellowing laugh.

“Brother! I was giving you a way out!” his voice boomed across the tiny starlarium. “The only good Kryptonian is a dead one! Or have you forgotten what the Kryptonians did to Daxalsos?!”

Mon-El tensed up. Something shifted in his expression, darkening; the prelude to a storm.

Zorgnith’s voice suddenly dripped with venom. “Your _whore_ of a mother certainly did not.”

The room fell into immediate silence, the joyous smile evaporating even from Kar-Gand’s face—and in the next moment, Mon-El exploded onto his feet, blade unleashed from his side, silver metal reflecting starlight and death.

Zorgnith mirrored Mon-El’s movements, with nothing but the dinner knife, yet seeming more than delighted to engage his younger brother in a fight to the death.

**“Enough.”**

Like a hammer slamming down on the gravel, the authority in Kell’riv-Gand’s voice was absolute.

The two brothers froze in mid-step, as though an unspeakable force had descended upon them and held them still by their necks. It lasted until the tension dissipated, and the two returned to their seats like quiet, little children.

The starlight in the room shrank for a moment, casting the room into dimmer shine, and Kara couldn’t help but wonder if there was a passing cloud, or if even the stars themselves shriveled at Kell’riv-Gand’s command.

“Zorgnith, you will treat our guest with respect.” It wasn’t a suggestion, but a command. “Kryptonian or not.”

“Yes, Father,” the second prince replied like an obedient child, the sudden change in attitude inapposite of his size and stature. He turned to Kara, sulking, “My apologies for my insolence.”

Kara, not sure of how else to respond, could only nod.

No one else spoke as service drones started buzzing into the room with covered plates, placing one in front of each seated occupant. When the drones left and the covers were removed, dinner commenced.

While the men started on their food immediately, Kara took a moment to control her nervous breathing, trying to calm her pounding heart. Her adrenaline was still pumping, hard, and her nerves were still in fight-or-flight mode.

She still couldn’t believe the events that’d transpired. For the brothers to go from seconds away from bloodshed to having an amicable meal. None of it was normal to her. She wanted to scream at them, to ask them what the hell was wrong with them.

But instead, she just remained quiet, and breathed slowly, waiting for her nerves to calm and for her hands to stop shaking. She had to get used to this. This was her life now.

When her hands finally stopped shaking, she lifted the cover of her plate, unveiling to Kara—through the steam—a most unexpected meal.

It was a plate of steaming-hot, plump pot stickers. Skin cooked to perfection; a hint of brown at the bottom, crispy at the edges, and with a variety of dipping sauces to choose from. It looked flawless, like a picture, the aroma mouth-watering.

She couldn’t believe her eyes. It took all she could to stop her stomach for rumbling. It’d been a full day since her last meal back on Earth, and while her need for food, mentally, had been dwarfed by more pressing matters, her stomach was clearly in complete disagreement.

She looked around the table and noticed different slices of meat on everyone else’s plates, each meal seeming to have been prepared specifically for the person’s palate. She was again reminded of what Lyra had said about their synced biometrics. Kara remembered having pot stickers the night before, from her favorite Chinese takeout place; was she served pot stickers because their scans, taken back on Earth, detected pieces of half-digested pot stickers in her stomach?

She didn’t know whether to be impressed by their technology or terrified.

Eventually, she picked up the utensils and cut the pot sticker into half, revealing the juicy meat inside, the smell wafting out causing her to instantly salivate. She dipped the half into the provided sauce and took a bite. As expected, it tasted amazing. The skin was crunchy and soft, the meat tender and spiced to perfection. It melted in her mouth, elevating her taste buds to heights of which she’d never imagined possible. All from a single bite.

Seeing the way Zorgnith was tearing into an especially large piece of meat, Kara wasted no time devouring hers as well. In the end, she finished her plate earlier than the rest, leaving her sitting there awkwardly, unable to excuse herself, waiting for whatever else came next.

It gave her plenty of time to contemplate her hosts, and also the undeniable scenery; she could see hundreds and thousands of stars beyond her, like tiny lights strung up against the dark curtains of space, their coalescing glow across eons bringing illumination to the tiny starlarium.

As Kara’s gaze drifted across the room, she found herself looking at the person seated beside her: Mon-El—the prince to whom she was betrothed. He ate quietly, dignified in comparison to Zorgnith, who now had gravy all over himself.

Mon-El’s features were still as inscrutable as before, and there was no trace left of his previous outburst. He said nothing, and if he’d noticed her curious gaze, there came no acknowledgement.

When Kara realized how long she was staring, she quickly looked away, eyes coming across the two in front of her, instead: Kar-Gand, whom she’d already met, and Zorgnith-Gand, who she thought of as nothing more than a savage, a brute with more muscles than brains. She tried not to let her dislike of him show on her face.

In that bit of quiet contemplation, Kara realized that while the blood of Gand ran through the three Daxamite brothers, none of them were truly anything alike.

 _The schemer, the brute, and the soldier_.

Two of them were likely the offsprings of political unionships, princes borne of Gand alliances. But not Mon-El. He was something different, as _Raosc’Ehra_. But then again, she knew almost nothing about. In fact, about any of them.

And lastly, there was Kell’riv Av Gand, the patriarch of House Gand.

Kara’s limited knowledge of Daxam’s history came only from what she’d learned on Krypton all those years ago, and while she knew of their civil war: a bloody conflict lasting centuries since the fall of the previous monarch, said to have ended during her time trapped in the Phantom Zone, from what she’d learned from Kar-Gand on the flight over, seemed to be far from a peaceful conclusion of any kind.

If Kell’riv-Gand were to win the war, unite the twelve houses of Daxam and ascend to Supreme Ruler, he could very well become the strongest and, perhaps, most dangerous person in the entire known galaxy. The power he could wield was a terrifying thought. Second only to the thought that Kara, herself, could be the key to that ascension.

When, if ever, it came to choosing between Earth’s safety and letting Kell’riv-Gand achieve absolute power, could she be trusted to make the right choice?

A choice that involved losing her home the second time?

Kara didn’t know. And that thought terrified her even more.

When dinner concluded, Zorgnith and Kar-Gand left the room, the latter with an intricate bow. Only Kara, Mon-El, and Kell’riv-Gand remained.

Kell’riv-Gand stood to the side of the starlarium, eyes to the stars, features softening in their reach, like in the remembrance of a long-forgotten memory, found only in the fabric between stardust and space.

“I knew your father once, Kara Zor-El Danvers,” he said.

“You did?” Kara asked, unable to hide the surprise in her voice. Their conversation was taking a path she’d not expected. “But how?”

“We crossed paths when I was an emissary for the Empire of Daxam, sent to Krypton for peace relations. Zor-El was a young scientist then, full of ideas, and as smart as he was stubborn.”

 _A young scientist_.

Kara couldn’t remember a time before her father’s greying head of his, nor his tired eyes full of wisdom. But then again, the Gand matriarch wasn’t wrong about her father’s smarts and stubbornness. “That… must’ve been a long time ago.”

“More than a lifetime,” Kell’riv-Gand said, and Kara suddenly realized that the Daxamite was a lot older than he seemed.

He turned to her, “The House of El was a hospitable family in my time. I hope you will find your stay on Daxamlos with equal comfort, Kara Zor-El Danvers.”

He nodded to his son, who stood guard by the entrance. “Mon-El will accompany you back your quarters.”

Kell’riv-Gand’s eyes returned to the stars, their warm light giving him an ethereal form. His words were spoken with finality; in the seconds that passed, it was as if Kara no longer even existed before him.

The elevator ride down felt like it took an eternity. The tiny, confined space also felt a lot smaller, even more claustrophobic than Kara remembered: with Mon-El and Lyra standing shoulder-to-shoulder beside her, and X’Garr hunched uncomfortably behind them.

Reality slowly set in for Kara, in the quiet, passing minutes of descent. The starlarium, the thousands of unfamiliar constellations enveloping the night sky, even the anti-storm platings just beyond the elevator’s walls; she wasn’t on Earth anymore. She wasn’t anywhere even close to her old star system.

She still hadn’t had the time to fully digest her current and her future circumstances; the life left behind and the life began anew. But one thing she knew—was that nothing was ever going to be the same. She’d have to adapt, to play their game in order to survive: the incident with Zorgnith told her all she needed to know.

One misstep—and she’d be dead.

She glanced at the reflection of Mon-El in the glass panel as she tried to arrange her thoughts. She wasn’t the sort of person that held grudges, but even so, the image of him standing over Kal-El, a dagger in her cousin’s back, still burned brightly in her mind.

Kal-El had survived the encounter—getting him and the affected Earthlings proper medical treatment was part of her deal with Kar-Gand, but even with Kal-El shortly back to a hundred percent, it didn’t mean that she forgave Mon-El for what he did, far from any of it.

And yes, he protected her from Zorgnith’s attack too, but it also meant nothing. To her, he only caught the knife because she was still of use to him, for whatever the reasons they’d brought her here for. Were she a stranger, he would’ve let her die. That was as undeniable as the light of the stars in the skies. That was the difference between them, and nothing could convince her otherwise.

But as much as she despised the Daxamites, Kara knew that she had to put on a front, to maintain or at least, to uphold the illusion of an amicable relationship with the people her life was now so inexplicable entwined with. Regardless of what happened within the House of Gand, she knew it was going to be different in front of the other houses. She had a role to play and, for the sake of her planet, she would play it well.

But for tonight, she still couldn’t bring herself to say even a single word to Mon-El.

Neither one of them spoke during the long descent.

Something nagged at the edge of her mind. It was obvious why she disliked him, but there was something Zorgnith had said that made sense of Mon-El’s apparent, equal dislike of her.

_“Have you forgotten what the Kryptonians did to Daxalsos?!”_

She was unfamiliar with the mentioned planet. But there must be a reason for his quiet animosity. She believed she would find out soon.

When they finally arrived at Kara’s room, Mon-El did not follow her in.

“Princess,” he said, like an acknowledging farewell.

Kara turned around, “I’m not—

—a princess,” she said quietly, to no one more than herself.

He’d already left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rewrite not beta-ed let me know if you spot any mistakes
> 
> as usual, if you'd like to see story-update-progresses, little snippets of next chapters, or if you'd like to talk about my stories, tv shows, or just life in general, you can find me @ shipwreckinabottle on tumblr.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me a little longer to finish this chapter as it's pretty much an entirely new chapter. 
> 
> old version: 738 words  
> new version: 3243 words
> 
> Titles in the story are inspired by ancient roman titles: 
> 
> Magister: Master / teacher.  
> Consul: advisors on the senate  
> Praetorian Guard: an elite unit of the Imperial Roman army whose members served as personal bodyguards and intelligence for the Roman emperors.  
> Praetor: the commander of an army  
> Magistrate: the magistrates of the Roman Republic were the high government officers of the Roman Republic, combining judicial and executive authority throughout Roman territory.  
> Imperator: Imperator is when a victorious commander could be hailed as imperator in the field by his troops.

After a restless night of sleep, Kara woke to a blinking red light coming from the data-pad placed on the counter next to her bed. She stared curiously at the blinking light for a few long seconds, before sitting up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and grabbing the device.

The data pad was a small, handheld electronic interface with an inbuilt retractable holo-display; the physical device itself—a slim, black pad like a high-tech cell-phone, was no larger than the size of her palm; while the retractable holo-display—Daxamite tech able to create images of three-dimension depth—could extend the length of her entire arm.

She fumbled with the unfamiliar controls for a moment, half wishing she’d had read the provided twenty-page instructional manual the night before. Instead, all she did after dinner was pace around the room anxiously, struggling with her conflicting thoughts, until exhaustion sent her crawling into bed. And even then, sleep barely came at all.

Eventually, she figured out the basic controls and unlocked the data-pad’s contents.

A message extended onto the holo-display, signed with the crest of Gand.

“ _Kara Zor-El Danvers of Krypton._

_As esteemed guest of the House of Gand, you have been granted a level-five top level security clearance._

_Be aware of the red (restricted) zones on the provided maps. Your clearance can be revoked at any given time if caught trespassing._

_Enjoy your stay.”_

The second part of the message read as innocuous and as commonplace as a welcoming brochure from any of the hotels Kara had visited back on Earth. Like a travel pamphlet for the visiting tourist, it even recommended a few places of Daxamlos worth visiting; the only things missing a coupon for the breakfast buffet and an itinerary for the afternoon tour.

“ _Enjoy your stay_.”

It sounded so ridiculous to her. The way they’d worded the message, as though she was an honored guest of theirs; a template for a visitor from a faraway system, eager to explore their world and indulge in their culture.

_Just like a tourist_.

Before their departure from Earth, Kar-Gand had insisted on the fact that she wasn’t a prisoner. She wasn’t tossed into a cage, or kept in chains, or dragged kicking and screaming all the way to Daxamlos. In fact, he’d had assured her that she’d be treated more like a guest than someone forced into a decision to leave their home world.

So, in a way they weren’t wrong in that she’d had left Earth and came to Daxamlos willingly. She was even—as per their deal, allowed to leave whenever she so wished. But the thought of her being a tourist, a guest, was laughable. It couldn’t be further from the truth.

Because unlike an actual tourist, she’d have to deal with jeopardizing her home world’s safety were she to even take a single step off the moon she was currently on. The extent of the technicality of their deal, and a whole bunch of stipulations conveniently left out.

_“Esteemed guest._ ”

Kara rolled her eyes at that word. The estate was beautifully adorned, almost no place on Earth even came close; but walls or no walls, a prison was still a prison. And the Gand estate was hers.

She closed the message and with a bit more fiddling, expanded the data-pad’s map onto the holo-display, which projected a detailed, three-dimensional overview of the Gand estate into the space before her.

A careful examination of the overview revealed that a majority section of the estate was included in the green section, accessible by the clearance she was given. To her surprise, she was actually given permission to roam over ninety-percent of the estate uncontested. A generous comparison to her initial suspicions, which included either only a tiny jail cell, or to be confined to her room.

The only sections of the estate included in the red zones were manufacturing plants, private estates of the Gand nobility (servants were green), and the upper few levels of the Gand tower, including the Room of Stars and a few others yet to be visited.

She wondered momentarily what could be housed in those rooms, seeing as they were the only ones she wasn’t given access to other than private quarters and manufacturing plants, but then decided it wasn’t worth risking her clearance to find out.

She saved the map to quick-access, then spent the next hour tinkering around with the data-pad. It was a trove of information and access, granting her whatever she wanted to know about the estate, history, and the people around her.

She also checked if it was possible to send a message to Earth from the data-pad, but so far it seemed to be a close-looped system. Which meant nothing in, nothing out. It was disappointing, but not unexpected, with Daxamlos and its Nth-metal mining facilities being a closely guarded secret of House Gand.

A second message came in some time later.

“ _Etiquette and conduct with Magister Prekliuem Av Lyvons - 1600 – Archives Records Room.”_

“Etiquette and conduct” sounded like a class that one of the characters in the regency era romance novels Kara enjoyed reading growing up, would attend. Something that involved a room full of giggly noblewomen in frilly frocks, tight-fitting bodices, and lots and lots of tea pots.

In reality, she knew it was more likely that she was to be taught the customs and protocols of Daxam court in order not to embarrass her hosts in public appearances. But in her wandering imagination, teapots and noblewomen definitely seemed a lot more fun.

“The ceremony will take place in a month’s time, when Aorhs, Ioehs, and Yorhs, the three stars of Daxam are in perfect alignment,” Lyra explained on their way to the archival rooms for Kara’s afternoon lessons. “It is customary in Daxamite culture for such binding events.”

Kara was still mostly unsure of the proceedings. “What will the wedding be like?” she asked.

“Your Highness and the prince will travel to Daxam and register your unionship at the Hall of Coalescence.”

“What about the wedding itself?”

“The High Priest or Priestess in attendance will conduct the wedding at the venue. It’s a short procedure. It shouldn’t take longer than a few minutes.”

The simplicity of it all was astounding. “That’s it?”

Lyra nodded. “What were you expecting, Your Highness?”

“I... I just thought there’d be a lot more to a Daxamite wedding than a simple marriage registration,” Kara shuddered, thinking of the wild Daxamite parties she’d heard all about growing up. “To me, it sounds more like a task than a ceremony.”

“A very prestigious task, Your Highness,” Lyra said seriously. “There is nothing more binding, more absolute on Daxam than a recognized unionship. Often dictated during a child’s birth, they’re irrevocable and considered an honor. Wars have been averted and prosperity negotiated, with tactically planned unionships. Empires have risen and fallen with but a simple, planned marriage.”

Kara knew of the similar roots between current day Daxamian culture and older Kryptonian traditions. Not surprising considering that they both shared the same ancestors. But while arranged marriage was common on Krypton, it wasn’t by the same name—and certainly not for the same reasons.

Kryptonian law forbade divorce, and so to prevent treason, a compatibility machine was constructed to pre-approve marriages, often leading to younger Kryptonians finding their lifelong mates through the compatibility algorithms instead, rather a life of chance, missed encounters, or worse—incompatibility.

Kara though, had never fancied the idea of finding her mate through a compatibility algorithm. Perhaps it was due to her disparate upbringing on Earth, but she’d always believed in actually _falling_ in love, as opposed to having a machine—a program that couldn’t understand love—dictate who their life partners should be.

Such a traditional way wasn’t ideal by her Kryptonian standards, but she knew it was what she would’ve wanted. At least before she was betrothed to a Daxamite.

“It feels like…” Kara eventually said after a bit of thinking. “People here treat marriage as if a tool.”

“Is it not the same on Earth?” Lyra asked.

Kara took some time to think of an answer, “Arranged marriages were more commonplace in the past, but not as much nowadays, at least in my part of the world. People tend to exercise free will and find their own partners instead. Weddings on the other hand, are not considered tasks, but joyous occasions, with the bride and groom’s loved ones all in attendance. The main difference… I think… is that we try to marry for love, and not out of necessity or for something in return.”

“Love?” Lyra sounded surprised. “Your unionships are forged on a concept of an emotion?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“I do not compute. Alliances forged by unionships are binding; power and trade are often physical, accessible constructs, emotions are not.”

“You’re right. Some people marry purely for the sake of love. And people do fall out of love too,” Kara shrugged. “Love is a complicated thing. I don’t think anyone truly understands love. It’s illogical, and it can come and go at the most unexpected times, but when it does happen, it’s the most magical, and most beautiful thing of them all.”

Lyra’s cranial orbs flashed red. “Love is a variety of different feelings, states, and attitudes, ranging from interpersonal affection to pleasure; there is a biological basis to love, and there are many references to—”

Kara smiled, “Lyra, that’s not what I meant.”

Lyra pursed her lips together. “Love is a weird concept. Thinking about it just wastes my processing space.”

Magister Prekliuem Av Lyvons was the epitome of a stern, ancient instructor in all its varying definitions; silver-white hair framed loosely around a pair of sharp, piercing eyes; his skin was pulled tight against his flesh, blotted with age; and his forehead was a cascade of deep, gorging wrinkles, as much the experience of a journeyed man, as with an accumulation of a lifetime of annoyance. Unlike the more extravagant men of Gand, he wore plain, dark robes bound with a simple cord—like a scholar, or a professor from a more classical age.

But as ancient as the old magister was, he moved with the speed of a man with purpose and vitality not of his presumed age. As Kara stepped into the records archive—a large rectangular space filled with floor-to-ceiling shelves covered almost entirely with scrolls and scriptures of Daxamite origin—the magister got up from a table buried underneath heavy tomes and, with unexpected speed, sprinted across the room and stopped right in front of Kara.

He stood slightly taller than her, his body almost bone-thin, like she could knock him over with even the slightest sneeze. His eyes narrowed as he seemed to study her, as dispassionately as a scientist looking at a piece of cellular organism through a microscope.

Then he frowned and, as if unsatisfied with what he’d seen, shook his head, once, twice, made a disgruntled “ _hmmph_ ” with his throat, and said—in a way that bled dissatisfaction, “The evening is young and in your current, dreadful state, we have much to work on.” 

Five hours later, covered with dust from the ancient scrolls around her, Kara had learned not only of the rules and protocols of court, but also more history and hierarchy of the Daxam houses than a Kryptonian probably should. There were parts of it that—she had to grudgingly admit—were more interesting than any of the past histories she’d learnt back on Earth and Krypton, filled with strife and intrigue, rampant with betrayal and treason, like a fantasy novel come to life, with the House of Gand smack-dab at its center.

And while Magister Prekliuem was as stern and as no-nonsense as Kara had initially expected, the old educator was also an astoundingly precise imparter of knowledge, delivering centuries of history alongside formal titles and even the proper utensils for different Daxamite dishes in coherent and easily digestible lessons.

She still had the—as the magister put it, “posture of a Aislarienr slug,” (which she knew wasn’t a compliment from the disgusted way he’d had said it), but she was now well-informed of most current day Daxamite events, or at least the ones she was educated on. Information wasn’t as accessible on Daxam as it was for Earth and Krypton, mostly due to the news-feeds being controlled primarily by factions of the noble houses, but as far as Kara could tell, her security access allowed her to bypass most of the data restrictions. 

While the lesson had ended, Kara was in no rush to leave. She stood before a humongous star map that swathed a far side of the archival room. The map was time-worn, frayed at its sides but still kept in excellent condition, undoubtedly by the old magister. It recorded star systems of inhabited home worlds, from her own of Sol and Krypton; to the fractured Thanagarian Empire; Tamaran of the Vega system; and dozens of others she was unfamiliar with.

Unlike most modern, virtually updated maps, where her home system was a dark, blank part of space, the depicted Kryptonian home world was still a vibrant spot amongst stars, full of planetary bodies orbiting the great Rao, a testament to the star map’s old age. 

Moving past the star map, she came across a holographic model of a red planet. She accessed the holo-display, which extended the image until it stood at least twice her size spanning from the ground up, leaving her in awe of the immaculate details programmed into the high-resolution image.

It was Daxam, the rust planet.

But while she was familiar with bits of Daxamite history back on her time on Krypton, the planet had gone through drastic changes during her time in the phantom zone and on Earth. There were twelve dark lines erected across the planet’s surface, cut straight through its habitable zones that weren’t there the last time she saw an image of Daxam.

Those were, as Magister Prekliuem had explained, _The Twelve Great Walls of the Twelve Great Houses_. Spanning over five-hundred kilometers in length and over a hundred meters high, the walls were erected thirty-two years ago after the signing of the temporary ceasefire agreement, putting a halt to the centuries of civil strife, and equally dividing the singular, habitable landmass of Daxam into the territories of the twelve noble houses.

_Daxam_. In a month’s time, the ugly rust planet would be her home. Her fingers brushed against the holographic image, causing it to flutter without much resistance before eventually shutting off, leaving the section once again in darkness.

-

The stairways coiled like an angry serpent; a dark, twisted path, barely illuminated by the dim light-stones that hung on its old, faded walls. As Mon-El ascended the unmarked spire of the Gand estate, his footsteps echoed in the darkness, led more by familiarity than the path unseen.

At the spire’s zenith, guarding a wooden doorway, stood two of the largest men Mon-El had ever seen. Clad in full obsidian armor from head to toe, and wielding giant war-hammers twice of Mon-El’s size, the Praetorian Guards were an elite force, bred and genetically enhanced for combat, serving directly under his father’s command.

Mon-El would’ve thought them machines, if not for the tiny slits in their darkened face-plates, revealing blood-red eyes swimming in yellow pupils the color of rot and piss.

Mon-El disarmed himself, dropping his blade and removing his knives. The two Praetorians simply stood there, watching him, pupils swimming in yellow piss. He resisted the urge to pull one of his blades and send it straight through the guard’s face-plate. It wouldn’t have mattered. They would barely feel it. The Praetorians were bred to only follow orders, more muscles than conscious thoughts. They wouldn’t even move if he were to decide to tear through them right there. And they would never stop if his father gave the command to end him either.

After his weapons were removed, the guards shifted away, revealing the doorway behind them. Compared to the rest of the technologically advanced compound, the doorway was a peculiar sight; wooden, crafted from the ancient, dying god-trees of Daxam.

Mon-El pushed past the doorway and stepped into the dark chamber.

Carved from obsidian glass, the room was bathed in terrifying black. A platform was raised at its center, a throne surrounded by five seats. Shadows devoured the chamber, consuming even the air in a suffocating curtain of black. Shapes moved in the darkness, like demons swarming the dark. It wasn’t a throne room meant for inspiring fealty, but fear.

There were four in the room. His father sat on his throne, surrounded by three swathed in shadows. Mon-El treaded across the platform and kneeled before the throne, awaiting judgement.

One of the shadows spoke first, his voice a whiny croon, “Are you sure… we can trust the boy?” The shadows parted as the man stood, revealing a pale, skeletal visage; a man more bones than flesh, an unnatural prolongation of life long meant to perish. “His history… his… tainted blood.”

“Do we have a reason not to?” another of the shadows spoke. “I’ve never took you for a pure-bloodist, Consul Varkkum, with your own history and all. In fact, I do sometimes wonder myself… how much of your blood left is even your own?” Kar-Gand’s smirk was visible even in the darkness. “My _whispers_ tell me that your bloodline’s reserves have long bled dry. Don’t you supplement yourself with slave blood now? How uncivil of you.”

Consul Varkkum’s gums smack wetly against his toothless grunt, “You insolent-”

The third shadow stood, casting silence across the room. Instead of speaking, the shadow slipped from the seats, stepping past Mon-El, a thin finger running across the back of his neck, nails close to drawing blood. Then, it coiled around the back of the throne-seat, revealing a feminine arm draped loosely over his father’s shoulder.

“Oh Kar-Gand, your faith in your brother is so, so endearing,” the third shadow said, her voice was low and sultry, a seductive dance slipping through the tendrils of shadows. “But, dearest nephew, I agree with Consul Varkkum. The matters of the heart is hardly meant for a _beast_. Not to mention he is _Raosc’Ehra_. Wouldn’t _you_ be a better choice?”

Consul Varkkum snorted, “Lady Victrimelva, the prince’s debauchery is hardly equivalent to seduction.”

That brought Kar-Gand to a roaring laugh, his voice a deep echo in the dark room. “My reputation precedes me! But none of that matters, dear Consul, the Kryptonian has already agreed to the deal, your fears are unnecessary.” He waited for a second, then said, with a playful grin, “But pray tell, wise old Varkkum, oh ancient master of seduction, how would _you_ do it? Back in the good old days when Daxam was still green and ships yet to take the skies. Did you write sweet letters? Confessions of love under the shadows of the twin moons?”

Lady Victrimelva giggled in amusement, each measured chortle like bats searing through the dark.

She left the throne’s side and stopped before Mon-El. Her finger curled along the underside of his chin, tipping his face up to meet hers.

“Can you do it, _beast_?” she asked. “Lie? Manipulate? Threaten? Whatever it is you require to secure the throne for my _brother_?”

Mon-El’s stare was cold, and his answer swift.

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we learn a little more of the characters in the Gand Estate. 
> 
> Magister Prekliuem Av Lyvons - an educator of Daxam history  
> Consul Varkkum Av ??? - ????? an unnaturally old man, part of Gand's inner circle  
> Lady Victrimelva Av ??? - Kar-Gand / Mon-El's aunt. Sister of Kell’riv Gand?
> 
> rewrite not beta-ed let me know if you spot any mistakes
> 
> as usual, if you'd like to see story-update-progresses, little snippets of next chapters, or if you'd like to talk about my stories, tv shows, or just life in general, you can find me @ shipwreckinabottle on tumblr.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a later update. Been pretty busy recently, but things should be settling down soon enough. 
> 
> old version: 1270  
> new version: 3776
> 
> enjoy!

The lake beneath Gand Tower was a disc of dull, static grey. The entire surface was as flat as a mirror; there wasn’t a single ripple, the sound of waves, nor the natural, visible movement of water. The entire area was silent, motionless, as if time and eternity had died and frozen over, forming the lake in their wake.

The surface was occasionally reflective, depending on the passing constellations above. But instead of blue skies and clear clouds, only pale imitations of the heavenly bodies stretched across its dull expanse, weak starlight—far, young and old. 

A pungent tinge, resembling copper, hung in in the air. Kara noticed, permeating through the dome that separated the compound’s occupants from the outer atmosphere, emanating from the light mist that swelled over the lake like an enormous veil, ominous and haunting.

She stood by the outer section of the Gand Tower, in an extension of the dome. It was a small corridor; one end the exterior walls of the tower, and the other—separated by protective railings and the dome’s transparent surface platings—an unobstructed view of the lake straight below.

Considering the view before her, an undeniably breathtaking view, Kara wasn’t sure to be impressed or terrified. _Perhaps_ , she thought, _a perfectly good measure of both_.

This here right in front of her, wasn’t something that existed on Earth, on Krypton, or perhaps even the billions and trillions of planets out there in the known galaxy and beyond. The formation of the lake was exceedingly rare, bordering on the impossibility. And the reality of the chances of there being a similar lake somewhere out there in the immeasurable universe, other than the one before her, being so close to none—was almost incomprehensible.

The valleys that surrounded them, the craters, even the lake itself—none of it was man-made, but formed over billions of years from the precise geochemically distinct makeup of the moon’s core, atmospheric content, and the crushing gravity from the orbiting Well of Stars.

The existence of the lake itself was a testament to the engineering feats of nature. A natural monument, created billions of years before humanity even had the capacity to reach for the stars.

To have discovered it, was like striking gold or finding an oil field back on Earth, except in the scale of the wider, more technologically advanced galaxy—the literal life-fuel of the slipstream engines that allowed intergalactic space travel. One of, if not, the most precious commodities out there in the universe.

Kara was enraptured. It was truly a sight to behold. Wars had been fought over the tiniest veins of Nth-metal on Thanagar, and right here was an entire lake, hidden away from the rest of the galaxy, all for Gand’s taking.

While initially apprehensive of the steep drop, curiosity prevailed, and she now stood dangerously close to the railings, without a care to the dangerous fall below. Lyra stood beside her, equally nonchalant, while X’Garr—on the other hand, stood safely by the tower’s outer walls, refusing to go anywhere near the edge of the viewing platform.

“Afraid of heights?” Kara asked, only noticing X’Garr’s reluctance after the initial wonder of the lake ebbed away. His nervousness was an amusing sight, contrasting the fearsome, hulking figure of her bodyguard.

He grunted weakly.

Lyra popped in, “X’Garr’s home-world of Emana Branx, measuring at a gravitational mass of three times your own, consists mostly of flatlands and plains. Most of his kind are uncomfortable with height. Which, though at a smaller extent, exists in both Terrans and Kryptonian. You’re an exception, not quite the norm.” 

“Exception?” Kara asked.

“With certain behavioral exceptions, most living beings aren’t afraid of the things that aren’t able to harm them. Being that Kryptonians are supercharged by a yellow sun while on Earth; the ability of flight and increased durability prevents you from being harmed from falls at great height, thus your innate lack of a fear of heights. Terran humans, and as do Kryptonians on Krypton, lacked and or have never experienced such abilities, thus their ingrained fear of said heights. You may not have the same powers on this moon, but as the fear of heights isn’t as ingrained into your very being, you’re a lot more composed about it than say, someone like X’Garr, whose entire race lived no more than two floors off ground level.”

Kara took a second for it to sink in, “That makes sense, what about you, though? Are you not afraid of heights?” she asked, referring to Lyra’s own carefree attitude.

“Coluans are more… computational,” Lyra answered. “We fear the unknown, but not anything that is quantifiable, tangible, and or conforms to the laws of physics. For example, I might be afraid of the calculated risks of entering a building with terrible construction and shaky foundations, but on the other hand, with the provided information, I can easily predict a close to zero percent chance of the Gand Tower encountering a catastrophic failure. Thus, I’m afraid of impossible outcomes; including falling off the side of the structure and dropping into the lake.” 

“That seems… efficient, I guess?” Kara said. While Lyra was physically still more organic than cybernetic, she sometimes still reminded Kara more of an efficient computer system than a humanoid being. Which reminded her, “Lyra, what can you tell me about Daxalsos?” Kara asked, bringing up the planet Zorgnith-Gand mentioned during their dinner two nights ago.

Lyra’s cranial orbs flickered red. “Daxalsos: a dwarf planet in the Redaniant Belt; formed primarily of ice and rock; its surface composed of more than ninety-nine percent nitrogen ice, with traces of methane and carbon monoxide. Formerly under the control of the Holy Empire of Daxam.”

“Formerly?” Kara asked.

“Daxalsos’s core went supernova over thirty-two years ago, resulting in the planet’s complete destruction. There were no survivors.”

“That must be during…”

“Yes, it was when you were trapped in the Phantom Zone,” Lyra said.

“What happened?”

“An accident, I presume. There was a research lab in the area testing heavy drilling equipment. There’s nothing in the report that suggests an intentional chain reaction.”

Kara thought for a second. “Any Kryptonian involvement?”

“Not in any of the official records.”

 _An accident_. It didn’t sound like what Zorgnith had implied. The way he’d framed the sentence sounded like he’d held her people responsible. There was also the comment he’d made about Mon-El’s mother. _Was she on Daxalsos when it happened?_ There must be a reasonable explanation for the brothers’ hatred for her people.

But if Lyra couldn’t get her the answer, Kara didn’t know how she could either.

“What about Mon-El?” she asked.

Lyra’s orbs flashed red again. “Mon-El: Lord Praetor of Gand’s Imperial Might, Spear of the Holy Empire of Daxam, third in succession to the House of Gand. He’s—”

Kara shook her head. “No, I mean, was he on Daxalsos before it happened? Or a relative of his?”

“Not that I know of.”

Kara frowned. It was obvious from Mon-El’s exchange with Zorgnith that a great deal of his resentment for her people came from the events of Daxalsos. But it seemed that other than a direct confrontation with either Zorgnith or Mon-El himself, there was no other way for her to find out why.

Kara had an appointment at Medical next. The medical wing was located on one of the lower halls of the Gand Tower; unlike some of the more extravagant floors of the tower, Medical had a sparse, minimalistic design. It was a thin hallway with seats; there were two counters, one which was manned by a Coluan in white garbs, and the other seemed to be an automated dispensary.

At the end of the hallway were three closed doorways, each with a number on top.

Lyra spoke to the Coluan at the counter, who bowed to Kara before leading her to one of the small, sterilized rooms. White floors, walls, and ceilings; the smell reminded her of most hospitals back on Earth, the acidic tinge of chemicals and antiseptic. A smell she could never get used to growing up; a mixture of both the fact that she couldn’t get sick, and her enhanced sense of smell.

Similar to the exterior design, the room was sparse; there was only a single, stationary desk, which was likely where the doctor would sit; a two-meter-tall stasis chamber at the back, and at the very center of the room—a single seat with parallel arm apparatuses that reached down from the ceiling, with a large, translucent cup-like attachment just above the headrest. The seat resembled both a high-tech piece of equipment and also a mad scientist’s torture chair. Kara couldn’t tell which it was.

A few short moments later, another Coluan entered the room. He wore a doctor’s coat. “I’m Dr. Frek-82,” he introduced himself, then glanced down at his handheld datapad. “Kara Zor-El of Krypton?”

Kara nodded.

Dr. Frek motioned to the seat at the center of the room. “Please proceed.”

Kara settled into the terrifying-looking chair, which was oddly, a lot more comfortable than it looked. “So… what exactly is going to happen?” she asked. “I was told it was going to be a physical?”

“A full spectrum checkup, which will be done about…” the chair beneath Kara vibrated for a brief second, then pulsed as a wave of light washed through her. “Now.” He showed her the datapad, which included a complete biological scan, from her physical makeup to data only a doctor would understand. He tapped the pad, flipped through a few pages and nodded to himself. “I recommend a dose of GH113 and iK25.”

“And those are…?”

“Minor booster shots. You’re in excellent physical health, other than a slight spike in your stress receptors. The density of your bones, however, might encounter a faster breakdown in a lower gravity sphere on such as we’re on. GH113 helps with the loss while in the absence of your self-regenerating powers. iK25 is a full inoculation of known Daxamite bugs, pathogens, and diseases, a potent cocktail prepared for your trip there in due time.”

Kara nodded. Most of that she understood. It was similar to procedures on Earth, just more high-tech; like astronauts going through rehab after losing bone density from too much time spent in space; and vaccines for preventable diseases their immune systems were not prepared for.

In fact, inoculation and decontamination were common issues she’d encountered back during her time on Earth. Not for her, personally, due to her enhanced regenerative abilities, but the plenty of off-planet visitors who, without an Earth based immune system, quick fell sick to Earth borne diseases, or brought over their own.

The process went by quick and painless. One of the arm apparatuses attached itself to the side of her arm, followed by a slight pinch, and the process was finished. She felt almost nothing. The wonders of advanced medical tech.

“No rejection detected, zero complications,” the doctor said after another scan. “Excellent.”

Kara nodded, and was about to get up from her seat when Dr. Frek motioned for her to wait. “There is still another procedure.” He tapped onto his datapad and the translucent cup-like attachment slowly started to lower over Kara’s head. “I’m going to implant a translator array into the back of your skull.”

“You will what now?”

“A minor procedure. The array will allow instantaneous universal translation across the targeted synapses in your neural circuits. Most Daxamite adults have it. It’s a risk-free procedure, the machines will handle everything,” the doctor said, in a tone that suggested attaching something to her brain was as simple as applying a bandage to a cut.

“Is it going to hurt?” Kara asked.

“It’s no more a discomfort than the previous procedure.”

The doctor was right. There was another pinch, a little stronger than the former, but still only a pinch. Apparently, the array was injected into her nervous tissue with an injector so thin it didn’t even draw blood. Kara touched the back of her neck where she felt the pinch. “So how does it work?” she asked, feeling no different than usual.

“Like focusing your eyes on a faraway image, and the array will do the rest,” he said. A holographic image emerged from the table beside the doctor, a newscast from a foreign planet, in a language she didn’t understand. “Try it out.”

Kara concentrated on the newscaster’s words, thinking, concentrating as hard as she could. It wasn’t easy, like flexing a muscle she never knew she had. Suddenly, a weight pressed down on her skull, a strong pressure like she was abruptly dunked underwater. Sounds began to become muffled, slower, as if she was watching the events before her unfold through a blurry, one-way-mirror.

It was uncomfortable; there wasn’t another way to describe it. But in that discomfort, she realized she could understand the newscaster. Foreign words were still foreign words; she couldn’t understand them individually, but together, they became clear when processed through the strange, uncomfortable state she was in.

She relaxed, and everything turned back to normal. The pressure disappeared and everything else became clearer once more. “That… was an experience,” she exhaled. “How do people get used to that?”

“Most do not,” the doctor said. “Most organic based beings such as yourself do not keep the array activated due to the strain it puts on your cerebrum. Only when required, such as when conversing with another being without the aid of an on-site translator.” He checked the scans again. “That should be all. You may feel a bit of giddiness for the next hour or so, I suggest being stationary until it passes, though there shouldn’t be any complications of sorts. If there is, feel free to visit us again.”

There wasn’t any giddiness at all, or so Kara initially thought. She dismissed Lyra for the moment, wanting to try and find her own way around the estate. For the first few minutes, all was well, until she took the elevator back up to the main lobby. As the doors shut close behind her, a wave of dizziness quickly struck Kara, sending her grasping at the nearby table for balance, almost knocking over a vase of exotic-looking flowers.

It receded after a few short seconds, ebbing in tiny waves; she could tell that it wasn’t anything serious, like a moment of fatigue after a long race, but still, she supposed she should’ve heeded the doctor’s advice and stayed still. After a while, she started back in the direction of her room, stumbling a little, not really paying attention to her surroundings when she turned a corner and, not expecting anyone else around (she hadn’t seen anyone else since her arrival), walked straight into another person’s path.

She bumped into the stranger, sending the two of them stumbling forward. She immediately started to apologize, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t—”

Her breath caught in mid-apology. It wasn’t a stranger, but a familiar face.

_Mon-El._

Their first encounter since the dinner two nights ago. She hadn’t particularly been looking forward to meeting him again, but, she had to admit, she hadn’t expected him to be that absent, especially with how important their betrothment seemed to his family.

Before she could finish her sentence though, his eyes narrowed, glancing down at her like she was a speck of dust that shouldn’t have been in his way. “Watch where you’re going,” he said in a lazy, unamused manner, clearly displeased by her presence. Then without another word, he turned and continued down the hallway, leaving her behind as if she was nothing more than a stranger he’d just bumped into on the street.

She watched him leave, flabbergasted. She understood their mutual dislike of one another, but his nonchalant manner was astounding, and not in a good way. Their lives, as a result of Kar-Gand’s meddling, were now inexplicably entwinned, her life completely uprooted as a result, and yet he still acted like he was completely disinterested in anything that’d to do with either of them.

He acted like the betrothment was all her fault, while in truth she had nothing less than a choice. Her fists clenched shut, _she was literally taken hostage_! Ignoring the warning bells in her head, she gritted her teeth, exhaled, and marched straight over in his direction, catching up to him and yanking onto the back of his robes as hard as she could.

The fabric stretched and Mon-El was caught in mid-stride. His body arched backwards, almost comically, before he regained his posture. He turned to her with a scowl. “What are you doing?!”

“I want… to talk,” she huffed, fiercely meeting his annoyed gaze and refusing to falter. It was the first time they’d held eye contact for more than a few seconds and she immediately noticed how blue his eyes were—a Daxamite trait, same with all his brothers.

“What about?” he asked, tone condescending, again with the same attitude as though she wasn’t worthy of his time, like she was nothing more than a servant he wanted to dismiss and never see again. Or perhaps that was exactly how he felt about her. She couldn’t blame him; given a choice, she wouldn’t like to see him ever again, either.

“About us,” she said, trying her best to remain calm. “About our… betrothment.”

“There is nothing left to discuss,” he said, roughly yanking the fabric back and continuing on his way, leaving her behind for the second time.

Her initial shock of their sudden meeting was quickly descending into anger. She was practically seething now. She chased after him again, feeling like a mother following her tantrum-throwing child across a toy-store. Before long, they ended up at his destination: an unmarked room at the end of the corridor.

Kara stood outside for a few long seconds, half contemplating whether or not she should follow him in, until finally deciding to do so. She pushed open the door and stepped inside, hoping she wasn’t intruding on something personal, when she realized she’d stepped into a training room.

It reminded her of the one at DEO, but with more equipment, and dozens of different weapons hanging from the walls around them. It was well-equipped, and seemingly well used.

She found Mon-El at the center of the room, facing away from her, upside down and in the midst of doing handstand pushups. He did twenty, she counted, then another twenty, then another, before hopping up to his feet. Then he started to shadowbox, his eyes closed, a quiet intensity in his face, fighting an opponent only he could see.

It went on for another five minutes, and when Mon-El was finally done, he sat down onto the edge of the training mat, a towel wrapped across his back, his breathing heavy. She approached, and he spoke before she did, without even glancing once in her direction.

“I said I’m not interested.”

She glanced at him, then without speaking, rolled up her sleeves and stepped onto the mat.

-

It took Mon-El a full second to grasp Kara’s intentions.

“No,” he said, getting up to his feet in her approach. She ignored him. “No,” he said again, more firmly. There was no way he was going to—

“You scared?” she asked.

His face twitched before he could control himself. She was clearly taunting him. He knew better than to give in to such petty insults. But—

“You afraid of getting beaten up by a Kryptonian in a dress?”

She was overdoing it now. He knew exactly what she was up to. “I’m not—”

It wasn’t easy to speak and dodge at the same time. Mon-El ducked backward as Kara swung forward, instincts taking over, years of hardship and training allowing him to only barely evade her nearing fist.

It was close, _too close_.

Before he could put a stop to whatever she was doing, she stepped to his right as if repeating the previous move, then pivoted backwards. He lifted his arm in response, ignoring the feint and meeting her true strike in mid-swing, blocking the move and shoving her forward, sending her off-balance and tumbling down onto the mat.

She got up quickly, not fazed, and swung at him again.

He was better prepared the second time round. He anticipated and tracked her attack, sidestepping her swing and tripping her down onto the mat again with ease. She was trying to beat him with brute force; in her anger, there was a clear lack of technique.

“You fight clumsily,” he said. “There is no yellow sun here.”

She ignored him and swung again. He dodged effortlessly, using her own momentum to trip her. When she went down, he stepped forward, locking her right arm to her back, his knees pressed into her spine. A submission move. Easy, even a ten-year-old Daxamite male could apply and break out of it with adequate training.

She started to squirm, but couldn’t get out.

If he wanted to, he could break her arm with ease. “Submit,” he growled.

“Never.”

He doubled the pressure, and all she did was grit her teeth in return, still unwilling to relent. Her persistency annoyed him. Like an insect that wouldn’t die. Having no other choice, he released her.

She got back up to her feet again, slower this time, but with the same fire in her eyes.

It was infuriating.

She charged—and without thinking, he swept forward and struck her legs out from under her.

She crashed down onto the mat, clutching her ankle, face grimacing in pain, eyes squeezed shut.

He paused, realizing that he must’ve used too much strength. It wasn’t intentional. He was just trying to get her to back off. He crouched down beside her, wanting to inspect the damage, when she suddenly spun forward into him, her other leg coiling around the back of his head and pulling him forward—straight into the pain of her swinging elbow.

The blow sent him reeling backwards, momentarily stunning him.

 _She tricked him_.

He growled, rage surging to his chest.

They both got up to their feet, and he immediately noticed her limp.

 _It wasn’t a trick_.

Mon-El stopped. “Enough.”

He went to the side of the room, grabbed a box and brought it to her, forcing her to take a seat while he kneeled down in front of her to examine her ankle. He pressed lightly into the side, prompting a slight grimace. She tensed at the contact, her lips pursing, but not speaking.

It was starting to swell.

He sighed.

_How troublesome._

“I’ll get you something for the pain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [rewrite not beta-ed let me know if you spot any mistakes]
> 
> as usual, if you'd like to see story-update-progresses, little snippets of next chapters, or if you'd like to talk about my stories, tv shows, or just life in general, you can find me @ shipwreckinabottle on tumblr.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> old version: 1900 words  
> new version: 3004 words

Kara remained on her makeshift seat while Mon-El headed off to the side of the room and returned with a small, first-aid kit. He dug through the box for a handheld spray-looking device, then kneeled down in front of her—who’d already had her socks and shoes off and was inspecting her ankle—and activated the spray. The initial contact was surprisingly cold, and Kara tensed as a light spray absorbed into her skin, then exhaled softly as the growing numbness quickly alleviated her discomfort.

A sprain wasn’t that big of a deal, of course; nothing more than a minor injury, an inconvenience. But for someone who’d lived a great portion of her life with the ability to regenerate from almost any sort of injury barring the fatal kind (and even then, it was really, really hard to kill her), a sprain that didn’t fully recover in less than a minute’s time, was still something strange to experience, and she was silently appreciative of Mon-El’s help.

Even stranger than the pain in her ankle, was the position they were in: with her sitting on the box, and him kneeling down before her, ankle held lightly in his hands, like he was fitting her with a shoe, or putting one on. He was quiet now, his expression neutral, a far cry from the antagonism, the friction between the two of them just moments before. The latter wasn’t entirely gone, of course, but with a lot less hostility this current moment.

“Are you still in pain?” he asked after inspecting her ankle.

She shook her head, “Not anymore. Whatever you sprayed on my ankle worked.”

“The anaesthetic is a temporary solution. I can still bring you to the med bay, if you so desire,” he said, though it was clear from his tone that he thought it wasn’t necessary. Kara thought so too, but it sounded way more condescending hearing it from him, reminding her of the way he’d called her ‘ _Princess’_ the night of the dinner. Like he was implying that she was a pampered little girl, screaming for a doctor at even the slightest bit of pain.

A complete opposite of the type of person she was. His wrong impression of her shouldn’t have affected her, and yet for some reason it greatly annoyed her that he’d thought of her that way. To be fair, she might be wrong in her assumption of his thoughts, but it’d still surely fall in line with the impression he was giving her from the way he’d acted and the things he’d said. Couldn’t exactly blame her for thinking that the person with the stuck-up, judgemental attitude, was stuck-up and judgemental.

“It’s just a sprain,” she glared at him, a little more fiercely than planned.

His expression immediately changed. “I’m not going to apologize.”

“Why would you apologize?” she asked, surprised by his choice of words. 

“For injuring you.”

Kara quickly shook her head. “No, I… I should be the one apologizing.” With her anger gone, and after calmer heads prevailed, all that was left was embarrassment. Yes, he was rude to her, but he wasn’t the one who stepped into the ring and threw the first punch. She wasn’t usually the sort of person so prone to violent confrontations. Even back on Earth she’d always preferred diffusing a hostile situation with words rather than her fist, even though she could surely punch harder than she could speak. “This is my fault,” she said, not shying away from admitting her own faults.

He dismissed her apology with a shrug. “You fight like a child—”

She immediately cocked an eyebrow, a sarcastic retort prepared, when she realized he wasn’t being condescending at all. He was completely serious in a high-school-sports-coach kind of way.

“—blindly swinging your fists like you would in the presence of a yellow sun,” he said. “Technique is more important here, there is more emphasis on balance, on breathing, on your—why are you looking at me like that?”

Kara blinked. “Like what?”

“Like a wide-eyed child,” said Mon-El deadpan. “Seeing Daxam for the first time in all its eternal glory.”

“Horrible comparison aside,” she pointed to the two of them. “I just wasn’t expecting… you know, this.”

“This?”

“You. Me. Us. Talking normally.”

“I do not comprehend.”

“Conversation, basically,” she said. “Especially since you’ve been avoiding me since dinner the other day.”

“I was not avoiding you.”

“Yes, you were. You literally walked away when I tried to talk to you, and I literally had to chase you all the way here.”

“I was busy.”

“Busy _avoiding me_ , you mean?” Kara folded her arms across her chest.

Mon-El made an annoyed _tsk_ , then stood upright. “Speak your mind then, Princess of Krypton.”

“Well, then… first of all…” Kara started to say, then spluttered; there were plenty of things to be said, hundreds of conversations and arguments that’d played out over and over again in her head the last few sleepless nights. But when finally confronted with the chance to do so, she found herself strangely, at a complete loss for words. “Firstly… umm…” in the end, she decided to tackle the front-most situation at hand. “Stop calling me princess!”

“That is the topic of which you wish to discuss?” he rolled his eyes. “The laws of ascension clearly state that you are—”

“—still not a princess,” Kara interrupted, adamant. “And I don’t like being addressed as such. I’m Kara. I want to be known as Kara. Simple as that.”

“Not by Daxamite culture. It is customary to address Daxamite nobles by their proper titles.”

“I’m not a Daxamite noble.”

“You will be soon enough,” the disdain in Mon-El’s voice was as clear as day.

“You don’t have to sound so disappointed,” Kara replied sarcastically. “You do know that I’m not the one who came up with that idea, right?”

“You were the one who agreed to the betrothment,” he pointed out. “You could have rejected my brother’s offer.”

“Rejected his offer!? Are you actually serious?!” Kara’s voice rose bitterly. “Your brother threatened my home! You think I wanted to be betrothed to a Daxamite any more than you wanted to be betrothed to a Kryptonian!? I had no choice!”

“Earth is not Krypton,” Mon-El was indifferent. “Let it burn.”

“You… Urgh!” Kara exhaled loudly. “How do you not understand!? Do you not have even a single shred of empathy?!”

“I wish to neither understand, nor have your Kryptonian sentimentality,” he responded.

“I wasn’t expecting a Daxamite to,” Kara spat back angrily.

They remained glaring at each other.

Mon-El spoke first. “This conversation is over. I’ll send your servant for you.”

“No, it’s not, it’s far from over,” Kara stood up unsteadily. “And her name is Lyra, not _servant_!”

He ignored her.

“Don’t you walk away from me,” she warned. When it was exactly what he did, she stepped up and towards him, momentarily forgetting about her injured ankle. It gave out on her second step, sending her falling, just as Mon-El turned around and caught her arm in mid-fall, his own securely around her waist.

They were still for a second, then Kara pushed herself away, face red with anger and mostly embarrassment. “D-Don’t make me chase you again, I will do it.”

Mon-El closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath and letting it out in a long, exasperated exhale.

“Dinner,” he said.

“What?”

“We’ll talk again at dinner,” he motioned to her leg. “When you’re feeling better.”

“Dinner then.”

“Your Highness!” Lyra’s cranial orbs beeped in an erratic, frantic fashion. “Let me prepare the surgical suite!”

“Lyra, that’s utterly unnecessary,” Kara said as they hobbled back into her room. “It’s just a little sprain.” She sat down on the bed and inspected her ankle. It was still slightly swollen and a little red, sensitive to the touch, but not quite as painful as before. “Do we have any ice in here?” she asked.

Lyra nodded, disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared with a large chunk of ice the size of her entire arm.

Kara couldn’t help but smile. “Not like that, Lyra,” she broke the chunk into smaller pieces, wrapping them up with a towel and pressing it against her ankle.

“Your methods are primitive,” Lyra noted.

“But effective,” Kara answered.

The Coluan shrugged, seeming to agree, “So… did you find what you were looking for?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you approached the Prince, I presumed it was to ask about the events of Daxalsos?”

Kara had completely forgotten about that. “We… err… didn’t quite get to that part,” she said. “He wasn’t all that interested in talking.”

“Oh. Perhaps another time?”

“I’ll have a chance later on. We’re having dinner together.”

“Oh!” Lyra beamed. “Shall I pick out a dress for you?”

“It’s not that kind of dinner, Lyra. We’re just going to talk.”

Lyra grinned mischievously, “There are dresses for talking… and there are dresses for _talking_.”

Kara shook her head a little too quickly, “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll manage.”

-

The private dining room was located on one of the higher levels of the tower; simplistic in design, the surrounding walls and pillars erected in shades of obsidian black; there was a single table at its center, length stretching almost the entire room, but with only two seats, one on each end.

Mon-El arrived first. He’d cleaned up in the hours following his impromptu sparring session, and now wore a fitted casual Daxamite suit, long sleeved and high collar. He took a seat and poured himself a glass of pale Daxam liquor. He downed the entire glass in a single breath, then poured himself another, another, and another, while the conversation he had with his brother played over and over again in his head.

_“Kar-Gand!” Mon-El marched up to his brother. “Is there no other way?!”_

_“No other way?” Kar-Gand repeated, seeming unsure of his brother’s sudden outburst._

_Mon-El seethed, “The… Kryptonian!”_

_The worry evaporated from Kar-Gand’s face. “The Kryptonian,” he laughed. “Is she proving too difficult for you to handle?”_

_“No,” Mon-El grunted in frustration. “She’s just an… annoyance.”_

_“What happened, dear brother? I’ve seen you in battle, spending hours lying in the blazing muds, with insects, grime, and death, crawling all over your body and yet without a single complaint. And yet in just two days this girl…” When Mon-El did not answer, Kar-Gand leaned forward, and inspected the slight bruise at the side of Mon-El’s face._

_“She… elbowed me in the side of the face,” said Mon-El sheepishly._

_It took Kar-Gand a second to register his brother’s words, before bellowing with laughter, “A wild one, isn’t she?!” he winked._

_“No,” Mon-El shook his head. “We were just sparring in the training room.”_

_“Then what is the problem, dear brother?”_

_Mon-El remained quiet._

_Kar-Gand stared at him for a long moment, before sighing and putting his hands around Mon-El’s shoulders. “Brother, I know how you feel about Kryptonians, I know what they did. But whatever feelings you may have for her or her race, don’t ever forget, she’s vital to our victory. Your mission lies above all others, even yourself. Do what you must, Mon-El. Lie, manipulate, threaten.”_

_“That is not the Daxamite way,” Mon-El said, more of an instinctive reply than a conscious one._

_“But that is your duty, brother,” Kar-Gand’s eyes burned with intensity. “Never forget, Mon-El, it is your duty.”_

The glass shattered in Mon-El’s hand and sliced into his palm. He wrapped his hand with a nearby napkin and sent for a cleaning droid.

She arrived an hour later, wearing a simple Kryptonian’s dress; long-sleeved and white, colors contrasting his own; her hair tied into a neat bun; her outfit was more professional than it was casual, like she was attending a business meeting and not dinner, somewhat similarly to himself.

Mon-El took it as a good sign. He wasn’t here to wine, dine, and make casual conversation. As she entered the room, stopping for a second to look around and take it in entirely, he greeted her with nothing more than a cold stare.

She walked towards him, past, then took her seat at the only other available seat—on the other end of the room-spanning table. They were now seated so far apart they could barely see each other through the many utensils and decorations adorning the table’s length.

Exactly what he’d intended, and of great effect.

She, on the other hand, did not seem to agree with his initial seating arrangements. Instead, she stood back up, grabbed her seat and dragged it all the way across the room, chair screeching loudly, to the other end of the table and until she was seated beside him as though they would a square table.

“What are you doing,” Mon-El’s face was instantly plastered with annoyance.

“This is much better,” she said. “At least we can talk properly now. We were so far apart it’d be no better than if we were in different rooms.”

“You… you’re…” Mon-El stopped himself with a deep sigh, and inhaled deeply instead. “Fine.”

“I’m such a what?”

He scowled. “I said it’s fine.”

“No, no. You were about to say something else,” she wasn’t backing down at all. She sat straighter, hands on her hips, like she was challenging him. “I’m such a what?”

He met her stare, “An annoyance. A bother. Maddening. Irritating. You’re-”

“Do you have a thesaurus hidden up your sleeve?”

“What? I do not,” he replied, her Terran / Kryptonian colloquialism lost upon him. “That would be highly inconvenient. Is this the point of your talk?”

“No,” she glared at him. “I wanted to talk about our betrothment. A proper conversation, but we can’t because you’re constantly disregarding whatever I have to say, with your annoying, stuck-up, holier-than-thou attitude.” 

He huffed. “As I’ve said before, there is nothing to talk about.”

“Don’t you want to at least know the person you’re about to marry?”

“Not one bit,” he said. “There is no reason for us to be anything more than strangers. You’re entering the betrothment out of necessity, and I’m doing so only out of duty. Our marriage is nothing more than a contract.”

“I know it’s not a real marriage, but Kar-Gand said appearances matter, and we have to play our parts. We need to at least work together on that. Look at us now, people will think we’re enemies, much less betrothed.”

“Then let them think that, why do you care?”

“Are you seriously asking me that?”

He shrugged, indifferent to her tensed expression, “I don’t understand why you’re-”

“Because your family threatened mine!” her voice rose, as did the visible anger in her face. “Your family threatened to destroy my world if I didn’t agree! You think I’m looking forward to playing the part of loving wife in front of your people!? As I’ve told you in the afternoon. I. Didn’t. Have. A. Choice!”

The room fell quiet for a long moment, almost quiet enough to hear the stars passing by beyond the obsidian walls. “What do you want,” Mon-El finally asked.

“I… don’t know,” she said softly. “But I do know that we need to work together. If not as friends than at least acquaintances. We can try to understand each other, work together, perhaps, and… it won’t be so…”

He sighed. “What is there to understand? It’s clear how much we dislike one another.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way.”

“You’re too naïve, Princess. You’re Kryptonian. I’m a Daxamite. The hatred is in our blood.”

“Hatred is born from misunderstanding, we have a common goal, we can work towards-”

“Kryptonians,” he said. “Always the optimists.”

“I—I have to be,” she said. “Hope is all I have left that keeps me from drowning.”

Her answer caught him off guard. “What?”

She looked away for a second, like she was contemplating her answer, before looking back at him. “Don’t you get it, Mon-El?” I’m afraid. I’m afraid of screwing up when every decision I make from now on directly affects the lives of billions back on Earth. I’m afraid of never seeing my family or my friends again. I’m afraid of your brother not upholding his end of the bargain,” her voice’s softer now, weaker than her previous outburst, and her shoulders fell low, like she was exhausted. “A million things terrify me out here, and right now… hope is the one thing that still keeps me afloat.”

It was a side of her he hadn’t expected. Vulnerable. “Why?” he asked after a long silence. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’m tired,” she said. “I’m tired of fighting, tired of acting like I can charge headfirst into everything that’s being thrown my way.”

He didn’t know what to say.

The droids came shortly after with their food, and they ate in complete silence. When they were done with their meal, Kara stood up. “Thanks for dinner,” she said; their eyes did not meet.

He nodded, and she left the room right after.

Afterwards, he remained there for the longest time, still annoyed, this time furthermore by the conflicting emotions swirling inside him.

_“Lie, manipulate, threaten.”_

He should’ve said something. It was a perfect opportunity. Should’ve made a promise to her that he’d make his brother uphold his deal, that he’d do anything to make sure her planet remained safe. Anything to manipulate her into believing that her continued subservience would benefit the people that she cared for most.

But those were promises that he could not keep, that would go against the very honor he stood for.

_“Your mission lies above all others, even yourself.”_

Mon-El shook his head. It wasn’t necessary. The girl was already barely hanging on as it was.

He knew what he needed to do. But even still…

_“Never Forget, Mon-El, it is your duty.”_

He clenched his fist so hard that the previous wound opened up again and started to bleed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [rewrite not beta-ed let me know if you spot any mistakes]
> 
> as usual, if you'd like to see story-update-progresses, little snippets of next chapters, or if you'd like to talk about my stories, tv shows, or just life in general, you can find me @ shipwreckinabottle on tumblr.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> old version: 2734 words  
> new version: 4450 words
> 
> wooooo, this was an absolute chunk of a chapter.

After her second dinner with Mon-El, Kara found the rest of her week going by rather uneventfully, dull even. As she’d expected, there was complete silence from the Daxamite prince; he neither requested an audience, nor left her any messages. It was, in a way, as though she didn’t exist at all.

While absent, she suspected they still shared the same building; the moon’s spaceport was visible from her room, and the massive ships that brought them here were still idling in port, like sleeping giants collecting moon-dust.

He was likely still somewhere in the Gand Estate, perhaps floors or even just walls apart. Since that day, though, she’d been left entirely to her own devices; there was zero contact, zero acknowledgement from any of the men of Gand. Like they were all strangers in different time periods, sharing the same space, the same walls, but just not the same time.

In a way, Kara was fine with it, she supposed. Their dinner, as much as she’d tried, wasn’t a success; their encounter didn’t yield any positive changes in their relationship, nor did they come to an agreement, or apart with a better understanding of one another. She’d offered him a chance to change things, but he’d made his position clear, and while not stated, he seemed nothing short of adamant in the finality of where he stood.

It revealed an impasse neither seemed capable of crossing. Mon-El was Mon-El; from their limited interactions and what she knew of him—he wasn’t likely going to change. She, on the other hand, was conflicted. She could say that she was trying, sure, but even she had to admit that her head wasn’t fully in the right place.

Perhaps it was her pride, or her ego, or a mixture of both. But she really couldn’t see herself continue to plead, to beg someone like him, especially him, to become… _what?_ Non-hostile acquaintances? Partners with a common goal? At the end of the day, she didn’t even know what she wanted of him. It was like making peace with a parasite, something that she vehemently opposed, but needed to co-exist.

That, in line, was why their relationship was fundamentally doomed to fail; even she knew, deep down, that in order for them to learn to work together, she needed to first stop hating him herself, and that was, unequivocally, the hardest thing to do.

As of now, there was nothing about Mon-El that she liked, or found redeemable, even from her perspective as someone who usually tried her hardest to see the best in people. From his indifferent attitude to his stubbornness, to the simple fact that he was involved in the invasion of her planet and almost the death of her cousin.

It was a lot of baggage to sort through, and even harder in her current situation only Rao knew how many lightyears of space from Earth.

But in the days that passed, she still tried her best not to let any of it weigh her down. As much as she wanted to, and as tempting as it was, she didn’t spend her days lying around in bed, bemoaning about her situation and trying to avoid the world around her. She knew that without her circle of friends and support, were she to fall into a cycle of depression, she’d probably never get out.

Instead, she tried her best to keep a proper, consistent schedule, as much as a distraction as for her physical and mental health. She woke up early each day to hit the gym she followed Mon-El to the week before. Without the presence of a yellow star, she needed the physical exercise to keep up her conditioning; the exhaustion and muscle-ache was great too—if she was too tired and in too much pain to think, then she didn’t need to think at all.

All the exercising also puts into context how her sister must’ve felt waking up early every day to hit the gym while Kara herself usually slept in late and had way too many after-midnight pot-sticker binges. That in turn made Kara realize how much she missed Alex and everyone else on Earth, which in turn sent her into another bout with the punching bag, picturing Mon-El’s smug face right at the center, until her arms were sore and her mood a lot better.

While most of her mornings were spent at the gym, her afternoons were spent either cooped up in her room studying as much as she could on Daxam culture, history, and the twelve noble houses, or in the Archives with Magister Prekliuem, who seemed pleased with their progress of “molding her from an Aislarienr slug into something a bit more presentable.”

On the second Monday, (which probably wasn’t a Monday since Daxamlos was in another star system all together, but Kara still counted her days to maintain a semblance of normalcy), Kara was cooped up in her room after a particularly intense gym session, easing her sore body on a massive fort of pillows and blankets, enjoying the view from her room.

While she still considered her room something of a prison cell, albeit a comfortable, luxurious one, the view didn’t garner any complaints from her at all. Her room’s connective balcony, a tiny convex space accessible from her bedroom, was made of the same transparent material as the Starlarium, granting her a magnificent view of her surroundings without exposure to the exterior atmosphere. A panoramic view of the moon’s natural canyons, including the massive domelike building enclosing the lake of silver, and the spaceport and giant mining structures in the far distance.

From what she could see, nothing seemed to exist beyond the massive dome and the industrial mining structures; the land barren and grey, but there still remained something breathtaking in the cold starkness, like the moon itself an accidental painting, splashed across an unforgiving canvas with brushes of dreary, unimpressionable grey.

It was Kara’s favorite—and only—view from her room.

It was also where she’d spent most her evenings after her study sessions, with a cup of Kryptonian tea in one hand and a book from the low-level libraries in the other. This part of her schedule was unexciting and mundane, bordering on boring, but there was little else for her to do in the long days since her arrival. Her submissiveness wasn’t an accedence of her fate, but with the knowledge that there remained no better option in her current situation, she figured it was better to remain compliant and lie low, than to incur the wrath of her hosts, at least until a better opportunity presented itself.

Kara turned to the next page of the book she was reading: a tale of a young Daxamite orphan kidnapped by evil mustache-twirling Kryptonian space pirates, which, aside from their eye-rolling depiction of Kryptonians, was a rather wholesome story. As she finished the chapter, she took a sip from her cup of freshly brewed Kryptonian tea. The drink was light and sweet, brewed from the petals of a flower native to Krypton. There was a jar of the petals set aside for her in one of the kitchen cupboards, and the drink was as pleasant and as delightful as she remembered.

She swirled the leaves and took another sip, enjoying the outside view when sudden movement from below caught her eyes. She moved closer to the window, spotting a carriage traversing the bridge that connected the dome to the tower. The carriage came to a stop at the tower’s entrance, and two men clad in Daxamite armor exited first, followed by another in the long, flowing robes of a Daxamite nobleman—similar to Kar-Gand’s—then lastly, a young boy, who Kara could only assume was the nobleman’s child.

It was the first time since Kara’s arrival that she’d seen visitors, and as the Gand Tower was restricted to only members of the House of Gand, and with the majority of the moon’s residents living within the dome instead, her interactions with those outside of the noble family had been otherwise non-existent. Needless to say, her curiosity was piqued.

Deciding to take a closer look at their mysterious visitor, Kara quickly finished her drink, put aside the book, and grabbed a jacket on her way out of the room. She almost bumped into X’Garr—who was standing guard outside her room. He grunted and half-bowed clumsily in acknowledgement when she sidestepped his humongous frame, then fell into noticeable pace behind her, each lumbering step echoing in the long hallways.

They took the central elevators down to the lobby, where Kara stopped near the top of the double-set stairways by the building’s entrance, her back pressed to one end of the open corridor as she peaked her face out over the corner. The four visitors were already in the lobby: the nobleman in the flowing garbs; his two armored guards; and the young boy, who seemed no older than the age of ten, standing behind the nobleman with his head bowed low to the ground, carefully holding onto the hemline of the nobleman’s robes, preventing the fabric from touching the floor. 

While the nobleman and his guards were dressed in grandeur, the boy was anything but. His clothes were dirtied and torn, no more than rags, his entire attire disheveled, his face dark and bruised. Suddenly, it became apparent to Kara that the boy wasn’t likely the nobleman’s son, but his… _slave_.

She stumbled forward and gripped onto the railings at the realization, the suddenness of it turning her knees weak. _A slave_. Even the very thought of that word started to leave a bitter taste in her mouth. _How could she have forgotten?_

Krypton had abolished slavery thousands of years ago, but Daxam had not; in fact, a fraction of their economy still thrived from the slave trade, regardless of Krypton’s past efforts in shutting down the slavers. Another one of many reasons why their planet went to war all those years ago.

For someone like Kara, who grew up believing in equality, that none shall own another living person, regardless of their race and status, the mere existence of the inhumane Daxamite slave trade, the very notion of it, caused her blood to boil. Something else to add to the growing list of reasons for why she hated the Daxamite empire.

If she were back on Earth, there’d be absolutely no stopping her from flying straight down to the nobleman, stepping in his face and forcefully _terminating_ the slave’s contract. _But_ … She clenched harder onto the railings to stop herself, even as every atom in her body screamed at her to do something, to help the boy. _She wasn’t on Earth_. She was on Daxamlos. Slavery was legal on Daxam and their territorial planets. Outside of personal morality, she had no precedence of any sort to put a stop to the scene before her.

And what would the House of Gand do, were she to cause a ruckus at their door for something so trite in their daily lives? As wrong and as immoral as it was, this simply wasn’t her fight—both culturally and legally.

 _It wasn’t her fight_.

She repeated that thought over and over again in her head, feeling like a coward, trying to look away. When the boy suddenly fell, crumpling into the ground. The nobleman walked over and casually nudged him with the tip of his boot, but the boy did not get up, and even from where Kara stood, she could see the way his body shook, his heavy breaths—the kid was on the verge of exhaustion.

The nobleman nudged the boy again, harder this time. When the boy remained still, the nobleman made an annoyed sound and revealed a whip-like object from between his robes, its electrical ends crackling against the marbled floor. He lunged forward, the whip crackling through the air, and the boy screamed in pain as it sliced down the side of his face, drawing blood. 

At that moment, all of Kara’s conflicted thoughts of legality and potential setbacks simply evaporated. She exploded down the stairwells two huge steps at a time, blood pounding in her ears, drawing everyone’s attention as she skidded across the lobby floor.

The two guards reacted to her presence immediately, their hands hovering over their weapons as they stepped in front of the nobleman, closing off a direct path of access. But Kara wasn’t aiming for the nobleman. Instead, she ran past the three of them and crouched down next to the little boy. He was bleeding from where the whip had struck, a trail of red that ran crimson down the side of his face, dripping onto the polished floor.

Up close, the boy looked even younger than Kara previously assumed. He was barely a child, still missing a few of his front teeth. Though, it occurred to Kara, that it could’ve been from the nobleman’s abuse as much as it could’ve been from puberty. The thought of it made her even angrier. “Are you okay?” she asked, trying to keep her tone as calm and as friendly as possible.

He flinched from her, retreating away with his hands wrapped around himself, mumbling something in a tongue Kara could not understand. She tried activating the Universal Translator Array inside her head for a brief second, but the boy no longer spoke, just shivered, like he was afraid of the repercussions of even receiving her help.

It was heartbreaking, and it took all Kara could to remain silent and not lash out at the nobleman. Her chest tightened with an angry knot as she got back up onto her feet and stared daggers at the nobleman and his two guards.

“Who are you?!” the nobleman asked, his voice shrilling with the obvious displeasure of her sudden appearance.

“Someone who is not going to let you harm the boy any further,” Kara stepped in front of the young boy, her hands held outwards in a protective gesture.

The nobleman’s nostrils flared. “What I plan to do with my _Svagveas_ is none of your business,” he twirled the whip in his palm. “Punishment must be dealt. It is the only way they learn.”

She refused to balk. “No, I won’t let you.” Her tone was firm, but she could only hope that they couldn’t see how much her hands were shaking. Back on Earth, protecting the kid would’ve been a piece of cake. But without a yellow star, she was vulnerable here. Kara knew that the whip could seriously hurt her, even maim her.

The nobleman stared at her in an incredulous manner, as if he simply couldn’t comprehend the meaning of her actions. “Your willingness in helping a _Svagveas_ stumps me,” he brushed aside his two guards, stepping forward and eyes narrowing like he was studying her as dispassionately as a scientist would a microprobe. “You speak strangely. Your accent is unpronounced. You… are not Daxamite.”

“I’m not,” she replied.

“That explains your willingness to defend them,” he rolled his eyes. “You are _Svagveas_ as well.” He looked at her from top to bottom. “A housemaid… or a second-class pleasure slave. It doesn’t matter. You are _Svagveas_. The House of Gand shall be appreciative of my efforts in teaching their _Svagveas_ a lesson in obedience.”

Before Kara could respond, the nobleman swung the whip forward, electricity crackling through the air as it tore a path straight in her direction. She raised her arms instinctively to protect herself, even while knowing how little they’d do in lessening the impact of the whip. Her eyes squeezed shut, tensing for the pain, praying for the worst to quickly pass.

Unexpectedly though, there was no pain.

Slowly, she peeked open an eye, and saw the whip caught inches from her face in X’Garr’s three-fingered grip. The whip’s electrical tip fizzled a final time before going completely dead. X’Garr grunted—then yanked hard on the whip, sending the nobleman flying forward and smashing face-first into the marbled floor.

The massive Branx bodyguard grunted again, then looked at Kara with something that resembled a smile. But the look only lasted for a single moment. There was a loud zapping sound and the smell of burnt flesh and X’Garr went completely slack, eyes glazing over as he toppled downwards, armored knees meeting the ground in a thunderous crack. He remained in that kneeling position for a long, wobbling second, then fell over.

Two large spears protruded from his back, thrown by the nobleman’s guards, sizzling flesh with electrical discharge. Kara ran to his side, but X’Garr wasn’t moving. She called out his name, and there came no response.

“Y-You…!” the nobleman was bleeding from his nose, now slanted to one side, and he was livid, veins popping out from his neck as he tried pulling himself up to his feet before failing quite miserably. One of the guards reached over and helped him, while he shouted at the other, “Take all their heads, now!”

There was no hesitation from the guard being ordered to take another life. He drew his blade in an immediate flash of silver steel and advanced in her direction.

Stepping back, Kara quickly looked around for anything she could use to defend herself. She reached for the closest weapon in sight—one of the spears still plunged into X’Garr’s back and, with a whispered apology, freed the weapon with a spurt of purple blood.

She rose to her feet, unsteadily, the spear held forward with neither form nor stance. Her training back on Earth had been mostly limited to hand-to-hand combat; she’d never fought with a spear before, much less without her powers and against a well-trained imperial guard.

The guard lanced forward before she could figure out how to activate the energized tip of the spear. She barely managed to get her weapon up in time to block his first swing. The clash of metal reverberated through the lobby, and the impact sent waves of hurt up Kara’s arms, threatening her with a loosening grip. Even just holding onto the weapon hurt, but she knew if she were to let go, she’d be dead. 

_“… technique is more important here, there is more emphasis on balance, on breathing, on…”_

Unexpectedly, Mon-El’s words suddenly resonated in her head. Kara tried her best to control her breathing, her balance. But even then, all she could manage was a few more blocks. The difference in their skill was simply overwhelming, and the guard took every advantage of it, granting zero reprieve, executing devastating attack after attack. The next clash of their weapons sent her stumbling, then down onto her knees, he swung again, and her spear was completely split down its center.

Then he moved in front of her, blade lifted into the air—and arced straight towards her neck.

Footsteps skidded across the lobby as a third person stepped between them, right before the guard could slice her neck clean off. The scabbard of a blade shot forward and deflected the guard’s blade, and without even bothering to draw his own sword, the stranger swept downwards, kicking the guard’s legs out from under him.

As the guard fell, heavy armor momentarily working against him, the person moved forward, rolling in the direction of the second guard who started to draw his own blade in the person’s advance. The newcomer crossed the lobby in seconds and launched towards the second guard, the bottom of his boot meeting the hilt of the guard’s blade in mid-draw, effectively stopping the weapon and kicking it back into its scabbard. Then another pivot and this guard was too knocked off his feet.

The first guard, picking himself up from the ground, swung at the man again—who turned in his direction, revealing a pair of very, very _pissed-off_ eyes. A flash of recognition crossed the guard’s face, and he stopped completely in mid-swing, his weapon falling to the ground in a loud clang as he dropped to his knees, head bowed to the ground.

“My Prince.”

The lobby went completely still. Not a single person spoke as Mon-El’s stare traversed the length of the floor, from the kneeling guards to the nobleman clutching at his bloodied face, to the child and, finally, settling onto Kara.

His eyes twitched, a familiar emerging annoyance, one which Kara never thought she’d be glad to see. He crossed over to her. “Are you injured?”

She checked herself and shook her head. She noticed there wasn’t a hint of concern in his voice, which was unsurprising, like a robot tasked with a medical checkup. He wasn’t checking if she was _okay_ , he only wanted to check on the status of her physical wellbeing. Like she was an expensive display object for the House of Gand—they’d hate it if their display piece was scratched.

Still, she didn’t fully blame him for his lack of empathy. It was mostly her fault that they were even in such a situation. She’d reacted impulsively. There were absolutely other ways she could’ve solved the issue. She could’ve tried to explain her position coolheadedly; from the way the nobleman was now groveling at Mon-El’s feet, he likely would’ve listened to her if she introduced herself as a future member of the House of Gand, perhaps even released the boy to her as a favor.

Yes, it hurt her to the very core to see the child injured, but she couldn’t be so selfish. She still had to think of all the people counting on her back on Earth. If the guards had taken off her head, then…

She hated that line of thought, both outcomes: of needing to choose between saving the child in front of her and the billions of lives back on Earth. Did it make her a coward? To think that she should’ve chosen the latter? For that moment, she sure as well thought she was. 

“M-My Prince…!” the nobleman suddenly staggered in between the two of them, his previous smugness completely replaced by timidness. “I… I didn’t know it was you! I… I was just trying to teach the _Svagveas_ a lesson! Forgive me!”

The mentioned of the word caused Mon-El to close his eyes and sigh. Like it suddenly became apparent to him the source of the chain of events that led up to this irksome moment. She knew. She knew that he knew. That she’d confronted the nobleman, almost lost her life, because of the boy—because of how her people viewed slaves.

She could almost hear it in his usual, infuriated tone. _You damn Kryptonians_.

Movement to their side caught her attention. To Kara’s surprise, she saw X’Garr starting to stir and slowly rise up to a sitting position. She started in his direction, wanting to check on his injuries and making sure nothing was too severe.

She only managed half a step before the nobleman rose up and yanked onto her arm, his other rising in a closed fist. “ _Svagveas!_ ” he screamed. “How dare you rise in the presence of our Prince!?”

She never got to answer him. Mon-El shot forward, and there was no hiding the fury that burned beneath his tempered exterior. The nobleman’s anger quickly faded to confusion and—realizing his mistake, released her, squealing with a hiss of air as Mon-El latched onto his neck with an iron grip.

The nobleman made a gurgling noise as he was forced down onto his knees, blood-shot eyes bulging as he looked towards his guards for help, but receiving only silence in return. They remained kneeling before Mon-El, still as statues.

“She… is… not… _Svagveas!”_ Mon-El roared. “She is…” the words caught in his throat, like he was unable to finish his own sentence. He stopped, and his own second of hesitation seemed to only have angered him further. His grip tightened, and the nobleman’s eyes started to roll until only the whites showed.

It all happened in a matter of seconds, and when Kara realized that Mon-El was going to kill the man for what he did to her, she quickly reached out and grabbed onto his shoulder. “Stop,” she pleaded. As much as she hated the man for what he did, there wasn’t enough hatred in her heart to end the lives of every vile person she’d ever come across. “Stop… please,” she had to repeat herself another time before Mon-El did.

The nobleman crumpled into the ground, grasping at his throat, heaving desperately for air.

Mon-El turned towards her, furious. “You would grant him mercy?” he snarled, like he was both angered and disappointed by her decision; the latter not because she was denying him of the kill, but that he likely saw her mercy as weakness.

“He… doesn’t deserve to die,” she looked towards X’Garr. “Plus, we need to get help for X’Garr, he…”

“The Branx is fine,” he dismissed her concern with a wave of his arm. “They heal fast from physical wounds. Just leave him be.”

She went over to check X’Garr’s wounds. Mon-El was right. The wounds were already healed over, gaping holes replaced by pale, purplish flesh. It took less than a minute before X’Garr was standing up on his feet, grunting again like nothing had happened.

“Enough of this,” Mon-El’s patience was running thin. “We have other matters to attend to.”

Kara didn’t want to leave, not yet. “Wait,” her eyes darted over to the young boy. She wanted to free him from the nobleman; the child was already on the verge of unconsciousness, and she couldn’t bear the thought of the nobleman blaming the child for what had happened here. She looked at Mon-El, needed his help, but didn’t know how to ask him for such a thing.

But it seemed she didn’t need to. He seemed to understand perfectly what she needed. With another one of his annoyed scowls, he pulled the nobleman back up onto his feet. “The boy,” he asked. “Do you own him?”

“Y-Yes, My Prince,” the nobleman replied hoarsely, clearly terrified of further angering Mon-El.

“Not anymore.”

The nobleman blinked, like he took a full second to register what Mon-El was saying. “Of… C-course, My Prince.”

Realizing what Mon-El had done, Kara approached the boy and held out a hand, hoping that he understood from her gesture that she meant him no harm. He was hesitant at first, eyes darting continuously between her and the nobleman, before eventually grasping onto her hand with an unsteady grip. She helped him up to his feet and, together with Mon-El and X’Garr, left the lobby and the still-kneeling nobleman behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all remember what scenes are coming up soon? *wink*
> 
> [rewrite not beta-ed let me know if you spot any mistakes]
> 
> as usual, if you'd like to see story-update-progresses, little snippets of next chapters, or if you'd like to talk about my stories, tv shows, or just life in general, you can find me @ shipwreckinabottle on tumblr.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> old version: 3143 words  
> new version: 3247 words
> 
> Not a huge change in length but massively rewrote the entire chapter to fix prose, etc.

The group of them left the lobby and proceeded to the infirmary, where Kara had her medical the week before. Mon-El led the way, Kara following with the boy’s hands held protectively in hers, and X’Garr trailing slightly behind. Upon their arrival, Mon-El went to speak with the Coluan nurse behind the counter, while Kara sat with the boy at the waiting area.

Kara could tell that the young boy was afraid. His hands were shaking in hers, and his breathing was coming in short rapid spurts. She tried her best to reassure him that he was safe, which wasn’t easy as they didn’t speak the same language and, unlike her, he didn’t have a translator array attached to his brain. Thankfully, he seemed to trust her for now, at least enough to not run away when the nurse approached and scanned them for abnormalities.

Not long after, they were led into one of the rooms where a different Coluan doctor waited with their diagnosis; Kara was fine, just a few small bruises; the boy had a few minor bone fractures, infected cuts to clean, and was malnourished, but nothing too serious for the doctors to handle. The doctor suggested a few days of infirmary stay for the boy, while Kara could be discharged immediately.

The boy said nothing, but he was clearly nervous at the prospect of being left behind. So, Kara—with the Coluan nurse’s help translating, promised him that she would return in a few days to visit and check up on him. The boy stared at Kara for a long while, big eyes unblinking, like he was deep in thought, before finally nodding. Then, he squeezed Kara’s hand a long, final time and left with the nurse.

After they left, Kara’s attention shifted over to X’Garr. The large Branx’s wounds were already mostly healed by then, evident by the fresh scabbing that’d closed over the cuts where the spears had punctured flesh. He wasn’t interested in getting checked out by a doctor, and Mon-El had also previously assured her that it wasn’t necessary, but Kara wouldn’t compromise. Not after the way he’d so selflessly protected her from the nobleman’s guards. She knew he was only performing his duty as her bodyguard, but she was still unbelievably thankful. And that meant that she wanted him to go get checked out by a doctor, no matter what.

The whole incident was another rude awakening for Kara. It made her understand that it wasn’t just about her. She might not care all that much about her own safety, especially with the abilities she’d previously had back on Earth, but over here on Daxamlos, if she were to continue charging headfirst into danger without first heeding the consequences—others could get hurt. That was something she really, really needed to think about the next time.

As Lyra wasn’t around to translate, and with the translator array in her head only working one-way, Kara pointed at the direction of the doctor’s office instead, hoping X’Garr would get the point.

He did and grunted once in protest.

Kara pointed again, like a stern parent, stepping in front of him and blocking his path.

X’Garr stared down at her for a few, long seconds, before eventually letting out a defeated grunt and slowly dragging his way towards the office instead.

After X’Garr’s departure, only Mon-El was left in the lobby with her. The Daxamite prince stood across from her in the lobby, arms folded firmly across his chest. For some reason or another, his entire posture reminded Kara of an annoyed, disappointed parent, like she’d done something bad in school and they were now waiting outside the principal’s office for her to be disciplined.

He had not said a single word to her since leaving the lobby, but his silence was more than enough; it was deafening, and she felt his growing annoyance cascading across the hallway in waves, infecting her with his inaudible disapproval.

She exhaled and glared in his direction. She didn’t need to assume his thoughts; it was clear to her what he was thinking. That the altercation with the nobleman was all her fault. Everything that’d happened was all on her. And she knew it too. She wasn’t arguing otherwise. But the way he was acting, the silent treatment, the disapproving stares—it was all so immature, childish even. It felt like he was throwing an adult tantrum, the kind without screaming nor failing, but instead a whole unhealthy dose of passive aggressiveness. 

She knew he didn’t approve of her actions, in hindsight, she didn’t either, not in the way that’d happened, anyways. It pissed her off even more knowing that his intervention also wasn’t out of concern, but stemming from his duty in keeping her alive and in one piece until they’d exhausted all use of whatever undisclosed reasons they’d wanted her for in the first place. Political obligation, nothing more. It was all she was to them. A pawn in their game. There existed nothing between her and Mon-El but a political contract. She was bound to him because of the deal she’d made with Kar-Gand, and he was bound to her out of duty.

When Kara couldn’t stand the silence any further, she marched over to Mon-El and jabbed her finger straight into his chest. “Say it,” she huffed. “I know you want to.”

He stood at least a whole head taller than her, and their height difference made it almost condescending the way he had to look down in order to catch her eye. “Say what?” he asked, nonchalantly.

“That I messed up,” she shot back. “That I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. That I wasn’t thinking clearly and ran headfirst into danger. That it was stupid and reckless of me and…” She exhaled and said a little softer, “That… I’ve almost gotten myself and the kid killed.”

He was quiet for a moment, like he was letting the words sink in. Not for him, but for her. “There is no need,” he said, his tone a little more patronizing than its usual self. “You seem to know it well enough, Princess.”

Kara’s eyebrows squinted together angrily. Her finger poked at his chest again, and it took all her self-control not to punch him in the face. “I… well… I’ll have you know…” she stuttered. “Given the chance… I’d… I’d do it all over again!”

“I know.” His answer was not at all what she’d expected. It didn’t feel demeaning in any way. She’d anticipated an argument or a sarcastic response, but not at all an agreement. For a moment, she was at a complete loss for words.

“Kryptonian morality and slavery do not go well in hand,” he said, paying no heed to her pause, like it was the most-commonly-known piece of knowledge in the universe. “Expecting otherwise is as foolish as hoping for the sun to set in an opposite direction on a planet with a fixed orbit, or for a Zarrstakr to abandon hunt of its prey once catching scent, or—"

“—I get it,” she interrupted, not sure whether to be offended by his stereotypical—although undeniably correct—assumption of her Kryptonian values. “So that means…” she asked. “You’re not mad?”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m… displeased with the way you handled things. There were better options.”

Kara nodded slowly. “Then I’ll admit… that it may have been a little too reckless of me. I should’ve gone about it in a different way, I should’ve…”

“A little?”

She scowled. “Look. I’m admitting it’s my fault. Don’t push it.”

“Fine,” he said. “Then, there is nothing left to be discussed.” Mon-El stepped abruptly away from the wall, his body’s movement sending Kara stumbling a step backwards, her hands returning quickly to her side. “We have more important things to attend to than petty squabbles,” he said.

She nodded. He’d previously mentioned having matters to attend to; after being left to her lonesome for the last few days, this was something that’d definitely piqued her interest. “What are we attending?” she asked.

“ _Rezarksorm_ , in honor of my brother’s recent victory against the Yrunook Empire.”

Kara blinked in disbelief. “Are we attending… a Daxamite party?”

Mon-El nodded.

The royal houses of Daxam were know for their extravagant celebrations, parties that often-lasted weeks on end. But when Mon-El stopped by Kara’s room after a quick outfit change, she realized—from his clothing—that they might not be attending _that_ sort of party after all.

Mon-El, for one, looked nothing like the stereotypical party-boy princes Kara had heard and seen so much of on Krypton’s holo-net growing up. Instead of the typical Daxamite party-toga-wear, he wore a formal military suit, darkly colored and immaculately tailored; the Gand’s crest was embroidered onto his epaulette, and an imperial sash ran down his shoulders to his waist in the shades of Daxam red.

He presented himself regally, resonating an unspoken strength. His posture was imposing, and no one in his presence would mistake him for a Daxamite party-boy prince, but a general of their imperial might.

He walked past her and into the room, their eyes locking, his lips in a displeased curl. “You are not yet dressed.”

Kara pressed her hands to her hips. “Of course not, I didn’t know what sort of party we’re attending. Or the dress code for the event. I’d like to be dressed appropriately.”

“Formal,” he said, nothing more.

“Fine,” she nodded and stepped back into the bedroom, locking the door shut behind her, forcing him to wait outside.

Three dresses laid on her bed—she’d picked them out while waiting for his arrival. She dismissed the first one immediately—a casual knee-length dress; cute, but something more for unimportant dinner parties and small social gatherings, nothing as fancy or as formal as his military suit.

The other two, however, were proper gowns. The first was a little more extravagant, laced with precious gemstones, designed intricately with a swirl of vibrancy, woven in the shades of Daxam red. The second was a little less adorned, light in color and simplistic in design; nothing too fancy, but modest in all its definition.

The former would definitely turn a lot more heads. It was, honestly speaking, not a comfortable dress; heavy and restrictive in places that would’ve preferred a tad more air. But it was, without a doubt, a dress meant to impress.

_And that was her purpose, wasn’t it?_

The _Last Princess of Krypton_ , they’d called her, like she was a coveted prize, an object claimed and bared for their audience. She knew what she was here for, but she hated it. She hated the idea of being paraded around the party like a trophy wrapped around Mon-El’s arms.

So, she ended up picking the second dress. It was a harmless little act of defiance, as petty as it was juvenile, like a child deciding to play in the mud before having dinner. But she couldn’t resist, she wasn’t going to just lie down and accept her fate. She wanted people to know that, and above all, she wanted Mon-El to know that.

Minimal time was spent on her makeup and hair, deciding to let the latter curl down around her shoulders as it normally would. Her plan wasn’t to look ‘pretty’ for the party, just ‘proper’ enough for the dress code, a bare minimum, so as to not insult anyone, and nothing more.

The dress was a perfect fit. But there was one small problem. As she pulled the straps up to her shoulders, she found that she couldn’t reach the back zipper. She struggled with it for a few minutes, even contemplating changing into the other zipperless dress, before ultimately coming to the realization that she had no other choice but to ask for help.

His help, specifically. There was no one else available. She slowly inched the bedroom door open and peeked her head out. Mon-El stood across the room from her, his attention focused on a small datapad he held in his hands. She tried to get his attention by making a soft _‘Eh-em’_ sound. It didn’t work. Or perhaps he was intentionally ignoring her.

So, Kara took a deep breath and coughed loudly in his direction.

Mon-El looked up from the datapad, unamused, an eyebrow cocked lazily in her direction.

“I… umm… need help with the… dress,” she said softly, eyes darting elsewhere for a second. She knew he wasn’t the enemy here, but even so; she still couldn’t shake the discomfort of asking anything of him, much less his help. There was also the matter of her pride and stubbornness in the way.

He placed the datapad aside and got up from his seat, face as stoic as ever. She turned away as he entered the bedroom; she couldn’t see him, but she felt his approach, his nearing presence. He stopped behind her, completely silent for the longest time.

Then he spoke, “Your hair.”

The suddenness of Mon-El’s voice caused her breath to hitch for a second. It was softer than usual, warm against her skin. She squeezed her eyes shut for a long second, then reached behind and pulled her hair to the front.

There was a moment’s pause, followed by the slight pull of his fingers against the zipper. He worked meticulously, carefully, like when he’d checked on her ankle the week before.

Then, someone else barged noisily into the room.

“Your Highness!” Lyra skidded to a stop in front of the two of them, out of breath, her face completely flushed. “I came as soon as I heard! Are you oka--…?” her words caught in mid-sentence, and she blinked, once, twice, like she needed time to process the scene in front of her.

“A-Am… am I interrupting?” she finally asked.

“Interrupting? -” Kara started to ask, just as Mon-El finished zipping up her dress with one swift, final tug, causing her to jump.

“No, you’re not,” Mon-El said, his tone final.

Then he turned to Kara. “Let’s go,” and without checking to see if she would follow, left the room in haste.

The trip to their destination was a quiet one; an automated shuttle waited for them at the base of the tower; there were no attendants, no guards in sight. Lyra and X’Garr had to stay behind as they weren’t allowed into the party, so it was just the two of them.

Kara climbed into the shuttle first, followed by Mon-El. The shuttle was built like a carriage, doors on either sides and with the two occupants seated facing across one another. There was a small datapad built into the side of their seats, and with Mon-El’s quick press of a few buttons, they were promptly on their way.

Neither spoke during the first part of their journey. There were times when Kara felt Mon-El’s gaze, but she never once acknowledged his presence, and when she finally looked in his direction, he was already occupied with something else, as if he’d lost all interest in her.

“Where is everyone?” Kara asked a few minutes after their descent into the dome. The shuttle navigated through dozens of winding corridors, and much like her first trip through the massive structure, there wasn’t a single other soul in sight.

“The dome’s functions are all automated,” replied Mon-El. “The moon was once a mining node, one amongst thousands, until my ancestors’ discovery of its underground Nth-metal lake. Hundreds of years later, it is now the source of House Gand’s strength, and our most closely guarded secret. The less outsiders know of it, the safer we are.”

Kara was quiet for a moment. _The less outsiders know of it, the safer we are_. She didn’t quite know how to interpret the way he’d phrased that sentence. Was she no longer an outsider? Or was she so irrelevant, so little of a threat that they couldn’t care less about what she’d do with that information?

Still, it was impressive. Beyond impressive. She’d learned of Nth-metal during her time on Krypton; the substance a vital component in the construction of gravitational slipstream drives. The invention of such drives shortened the travelling time between galaxies from years to mere hours. What used to be a six-hundred-year cryosleep journey was now possible in weeks.

Without Nth-metal, there would be no faster-than-light travel, there would be no jumping across galaxies. Empires had gone to war over even the smallest amounts of unpure Nth-metal; a drop of pure Nth-metal could power the gravitational drives of an entire Kryptonian fleet. Two drops could buy entire quadrants of space. And by controlling the largest source of pure Nth-metal in the entire known galaxy… It was like controlling the human equivalent of food and water…. Or perhaps even oxygen itself. For them to own such a huge deposit, the House of Gand was a lot more powerful than Kara had initially assumed.

It was terrifying to think of what a group of people with such power intended for her. Krypton was no more, and beyond Earth, she was no one. She had no political ties with any of the other known alien kingdoms; she wasn’t even actual royalty. All Kara had was the Kryptonian blood flowing through her veins, and the thought that they had plans for that, was chilling to the core.

Her thoughts were momentarily disrupted by the shuttle coming to a complete stop.

They’d arrived.

The Grand Hall, once bustling with commotion, came to an utter, complete halt.

Kara stepped out of the shuttle and an ocean of eyes descended upon her. Men and women of all ages stood in the background, immaculately tailored suits, colorful dresses; no one said a single thing, not even a hushed whisper, and it all became so quiet Kara could hear her own nervous heartbeat pounding loudly against her chest.

Then Mon-El stepped out beside her, almost lazily, clearly unaffected by the attention brought forth by their arrival, and a passage was made as the crowd parted before them, like a rock placed suddenly into the center of a river’s stream, parting the way in half.

His palm pressed into her lower back, an indication to proceed. For some reason or another, the presence felt almost reassuring. He matched her stride as they crossed through the waiting crowd and, in her bright white dress, Kara was like a lonely comet, set adrift across an ocean of Daxam red and military black.

The men and women she passed were flawless; chiseled jaws and striking features, porcelain skin and eyes of Daxamite blue. But the more she came across, the more similar they seemed, like statues carved from the same piece of marble; so perfect, it was almost artificial.

They eventually came upon a long table, which Kara assumed seated the more powerful men of Gand. Kell’riv-Gand sat at its center, flanked on both sides by Zorgnith and Kar-Gand, the latter who stood in their presence, a wide smile plastered across his lips.

“My brother… and his bride-to-be!” Kar-Gand announced loudly, his drink rising up into the air. “Welcome to the party!”

Then all at once, as if someone had flipped a switch, the party roared abruptly back to life. The crowed surged into Kara from all sides, and like at the mercy of a raging tsunami, she was quickly swallowed up and swept away into the mass of bodies around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [rewrite not beta-ed let me know if you spot any mistakes]
> 
> Party chapter coming right up :]
> 
> as usual, if you'd like to see story-update-progresses, little snippets of next chapters, or if you'd like to talk about my stories, tv shows, or just life in general, you can find me @ shipwreckinabottle on tumblr.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> old version: 4198  
> new version: 4937 words
> 
> Tightened prose, added a bit more details, and slightly changed their conversation in the cabin to make it flow smoother.

As Kara fell backwards into the crowd, the dozens of giant firepits framing the grand-hall ignited in simultaneous fashion, ceiling-high flames casting an intense, feverish glow over the raging bodies of red, black, and flesh. Drumbeats reverberated loudly across the large hall-space, pounding rhythms like the fingers of an invisible puppeteer, a tempo of strings casted over a crowd of dancing marionettes.

Dozens of hands, belonging to hidden faces in an ocean of movement, pulled Kara deeper, deeper into their swarming depths. The crowd swallowed her completely, like rough waves crashing together in a storm-brewed ocean, unrelenting, threatening to split her apart in all four directions.

Kara was shoved to her left, then pulled to her right, then seemingly in all directions at once. She tried to keep her feet firm on the ground in order to stop herself from falling, but quickly lost her balance barely a moment’s time in. She slipped, but the crowd’s momentum prevented her from falling, carrying her forward as unseen strangers helped her regain her footing, setting her down once more against a tumultuous, raging path. It was like she was placed into the center of rough rapids, with no choice left but to follow till the river’s violent end.

Kara wasn’t the claustrophobic sort, and she knew she wasn’t in real danger, but even so, the experience was nothing short of terrifying. Her heart thrummed against her chest as loudly as the unseen drummers, the same fast paced cadence a horrifying companion; she felt completely powerless within the flow of the crowd, without being able to control her movements, of whether she was going left, right, up, or down; only where the crowd led her, at their complete whim and mercy.

She tried keeping one of the hanging chandeliers above in view, trying to find a sense of equilibrium in the chaotic maelstrom of bodies. It worked for a short second, until something dark descended overhead, causing her to stumble backwards in shock. Kara’s eyes widened in alarm—until noticing the two approaching eyeholes—and realizing that the object was nothing more than a harmless piece of fabric. It settled gently over her face, the material soft like silk—a mask, from the looks and feel of it.

The moment the mask was placed over Kara’s face, the drums came to a stop, and the crowd completely stilled. A quiet, eerie calm descended overhead, and as Kara centered herself back onto her feet, she saw that every other Daxamite in her nearby vicinity were wearing the exact same masks. Featureless, with jagged, yet formless edges of red and black, similar to the clothing they wore—the colors of the Daxamite Empire.

Then without warning, the crowd surged forward once more, forcing Kara into a stumble through the massive pile of swarming bodies. The newer momentum sent her hurtling forward like a violent wave towards shore. She was thrown forward, backwards, then forward again, before coming to a complete stop, for only a second’s pause before the action was repeated again and again.

On the third pause, Kara immediately tried to push against the suffocating mass of bodies, doing all she could to break free of the crowd, but to no avail. She was trapped, her attempts futile. All she managed was a second’s reprieve before the crowd roared forward once again, sending her into yet another disorientating stumble.

Red and black smothered her from all sides, like advancing pools of blood and dark, drowning her into a bottomless, murky pit. She couldn’t see, could barely breathe. She stepped forward, blindly into another person’s path, and the collision of bodies sent her flying into the path of a hundred trampling feet.

The ground came up to meet her, but something else latched strongly onto her elbows, fingers digging deeply into skin as a powerful force pulled her back up onto her feet. The crowd stilled for a moment, and Kara found herself face to face with the person who’d caught her in his arms—a stranger, features concealed by the mask he wore, except for a pair of Daxamite eyes—blue, and as striking and as azure as all the Daxamites around them two.

The crowd surged forward again, but the Daxamite’s grip remained firm, steadfast, like an anchored buoy in the middle of a raging storm. His grip kept her still, steady, a sense of equilibrium in the chaotic surge of bodies—and for the first time, allowing Kara to keep her balance against the movement of the crowd.

When the crowd stilled again, Kara found herself pressed up against the person’s chest, hands squeezing tightly around his arms for dear life. She took a second to compose herself, releasing him from her grasp, and noticing that, even with his identity concealed by the mask he wore, the annoyed glint in the man’s eyes was one she’d recognize almost anywhere— _Mon-El_.

Before she could ask him how he’d managed to find her in the crazy mass of bodies, the crowd started to move again. But this time, she followed closely along Mon-El’s guided path, stayed with his movements, and strangely, even in the middle of a hundred closely packed bodies, she found herself moving in harmony—not even knocking into a single one. She relaxed herself, no longer fighting against the currents, but letting Mon-El guide her instead, and suddenly, she was no longer trapped in violent rapids, but a gentle float down a lazy stream.

Now, she flowed with the crowd, alongside the same rhythm, the same drum’s beat; in her movements was a synchroneity with the faceless Daxamites around her, a little dot of white in a sea of red and black. With Mon-El’s guidance, she moved when the crowd moved, stopped when the crowd stopped, breathed when the crowd breathed, and surged when the crowd surged. And in a strange, almost peculiar way, it felt like the two of them were dancing by the ocean’s breeze, every little movement guided by the nearing waves.

It was an experience unlike any other, and by the time the two of them broke free from the crowd, an hour had already passed like mere minutes. Kara staggered to the nearest table, collapsing onto her seat, completely out of breath and covered in sweat. It felt like she’d just been through an intense workout. The Daxamite crowd however, seemed barely affected, still moving through the hall as if they’d just barely begun.

Hundreds of attendees moved like a single organism before her, following a single drumbeat, swaying together with a single heartbeat, a movement of unity, a ritualistic ocean dance of masked black and red. Kara could do nothing but watch in amazement. It was strangely beautiful.

“ _Rezrook_. It is how we start of _Rezarksorm_ ,” said Mon-El behind her. “There is no one individual in the crowd—but all of the same mind. A dance of letting go of one’s impulses and desires, to be released into something far greater than themselves—finding a place without prejudices or hatred, a simple unity of life, echoing from person to person until we are no longer split, but whole.”

“How long does it go on?” she asked.

“It varies from person to person. Some do it for hours, some days, some even weeks, dancing through starvation, exhaustion, and to some, the greatest honor of all—death.”

“We… have nothing remotely close alike on Krypton,” Kara said. While they both came from the same spacefaring ancestors, the Daxamites were vastly different compared to the Kryptonians. Her people had their deities and their mythologies, but most left those behind due to their inclination towards science and progress; the Daxamites, on the other hand, had always revered religion and traditions, a core value of their race.

Kara had heard plenty of Daxam’s religious congregations growing up, but it was the first time she’d seen one up close. The experience was surely… different from what she’d expected. “I wouldn’t have believed it if not for seeing it with my own eyes,” she said. “It is truly amazing.”

“For some of us, the _Rezrook_ is merely tradition, a formality to our Old Gods,” Mon-El shrugged. “Kar-Gand only intends to please the Elders. Not all of us follow the old ways.”

Kara nodded, “I see.” Daxamites were usually a more pious race, but from what Mon-El had said, it would seem that not all of them shared the same sentimentality. It was also difficult to imagine Mon-El—of all people—being the religious sort. But then again, it wasn’t like she knew much of him outside of the little time they’d spent together, and beyond what she’d been told and found out herself.

“So, what’s next?” she asked.

“The feast,” he answered.

Music filled the air and table ladened with delicacies from all corners of the galaxy lined the walls of the feasting hall. Mountains of food sat atop large tables, savory dishes as far the eye could see, from elegantly prepared dishes to whole animals still roasting and turning on spits; there was enough food in the hall to feed entire armies.

Kara followed Mon-El through the feasting hall, making their way past dozens of revelers dancing and singing and feasting to their heart’s content. They stopped by the massive tables of food and piled their plates high before moving over to a nearby bench.

The other occupants on the bench got up as they sat, nodding to Mon-El, and without another word, left the two of them alone. They started with their food, conversation lost to the crowd, until Mon-El put his utensils down and said, “You’re uncomfortable.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. “There is nothing to fear here. You are in no danger.”

Kara shook her head quickly. “No, it isn’t that. I’m… just not quite used to being at the center of so much attention.” It was different from the attention she’d gotten as Supergirl, when her appearance and her every scrutinized move was the least of her worries, when all that mattered was getting the people in danger to safety.

Her eyes darted quickly across the rest of the hall, finding the lingering stares that’d been following their every move since her arrival. “The way everyone here is looking at me… its like I’m not a living person, but… entertainment, or amusement for their pleasure. Like… I’m an animal at the zoo. It’s hard to be comfortable with all that around me.”

“It is a natural reaction, nothing more,” he said, shrugging away her discomfort. “There is no ulterior motive; they have never seen a Kryptonian before, curiosity, is all.”

“But… it’s not like we’re that much different,” Kara muttered, trying to distract herself from the stares by stuffing her face with food. “We share the same ancestors after all.”

He was quiet for a bit, eyes scanning the room around them. Then without warning, Mon-El got up onto his feet, one hand holding his plate, picking up hers in the other. “Follow me,” he said, and left the room.

Not wanting to be left behind in the midst of a hundred curious stares, Kara quickly followed suit.

The marbled doorway that led out to the balcony was located at the far side of the hall, hidden from view behind an alter filled high with worship and food. Kara followed Mon-El outside, leaving the feasting hall behind, noticing how similar the balcony space was to her own room’s.

She now stood on an exterior space, shielded by the same transparent platings that protected them from the outer atmosphere while providing a beautiful view of the beyond. It paled slightly to the view in her room; the silver lake was blocked on the other side of the dome, understandably hidden away from view from the inhabitants of the dome, and instead, a barren stretch of grey land reached out like a pale hand into the horizon. Still, a breathtaking sight.

Mon-El closed the door behind them, immediately shutting out all the noise, the whispers, and the curious stares. Only a void of silence remained, and the smell of delicious food.

Kara let loose the heavy sigh she’d been holding for the longest time, feeling a humongous sense of relief blanketing over her now that they were finally alone. Mon-El certainly wasn’t the ideal companion she’d hoped for, but better him than the rest of the unfamiliar Daxamites out there.

Now that they weren’t in a confrontational mood, but a neutral ambiance of sorts, she didn’t feel as uncomfortable being alone with Mon-El. If neither of them spoke, then neither had any qualms with the other. They were just having dinner, after all. She still thought of him negatively, but his quiet companionship wasn’t the worst thing in the world. 

They sat on the floor and ate in complete silence, accompanied by the stark greyness, until their plates were clean and their stomachs full. It’d been a long day, and as Kara hadn’t eaten since her encounter with the nobleman almost half a day ago, her rumbling stomach had been more than grateful for the amount of food available back at the feasting hall.

Mon-El had not said a thing, but she was sure he had noticed the mountain of food she had taken—her plate had been piled up at least twice the amount of his. In fact, she probably could have handled second servings if not for the crowd of Daxamites she would have needed to navigate past in order to reach the tables of food.

Afterwards, the two of them sat there in quiet contemplation, finished plates of food stacked up on top of one another’s. Then Kara, feeling a little more talkative after having her stomach filled with food, asked, “During our shuttle-ride here, you said something about not letting outsiders know of Daxamlos. Does that mean everyone here is from the House of Gand?”

Mon-El nodded, “Yes.”

“That’s… a lot of people.”

“The blood of House Gand runs strongest in my family,” he said, tone adamant like a person fiercely defending his birthright. “We are the purest bloodline. They are cousins, nothing more.”

And this was where they were so different; unlike the Daxamites, Kara’s people cared little of bloodlines and lineages. Krypton was not a monarchy; there were no kings, queens, princes, and definitely no _princesses_.

Yet here she was, having dinner with one of the princes of Daxam. It wasn’t a situation any Kryptonian girl would’ve imagined themselves in, much less someone like her. “That means… the nobleman from before,” she asked. “He is of Gand, too?”

He nodded. “He is a… distant relative. The blood runs weaker in his family.” Something dark flashed through his eyes. “He disrespected you. I should have taken his head. Would have, if not for your intervention. I still should.”

“Please don’t,” Kara quickly said. “I’m fine, honestly.” She wasn’t the sort of person that held grudges, even against someone as immoral as the nobleman, especially if it was out of vengeance and not justice. The last thing she wanted was for Mon-El to kill someone in cold blood for her sake.

He scowled in obvious displeasure. “He insulted you. He raised his hand against you.” His tone darkened, “He hurt you.”

She felt the anger roll off his words, but it was dry anger, like finding a scratch on his car, or having food spilt on his shirt. There was no sympathy in his voice, no concern; devoid of kindness, his words corrupted completely by maliciousness.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Kara shook her head, not wanting to spur him on. “I only cared about the boy’s safety. As long as he’s safe, everything’s fine. There’s no need for further concern.”

“Still…” he started to argue.

She took a deep breath, “Mon-El, I’m not a scared little princess you have to protect.”

“… That is not what I meant.”

“I don’t know what sort of people you surround yourself with growing up, but… this is nothing to me. I’m not one of your fragile Daxamite princesses. I’m used to getting hurt, it’s part of what I did back on Earth.”

There was confusion in his voice. “What you do… is get hurt?”

“As Supergirl,” she tried to explain. “I mean… I don’t go out specifically looking to get hurt, but as I’m mostly invulnerable due to the Sun’s radiation, I try my best to help people in any way I can. And even if I do get hurt, it’s always worth the pain to save just one more life. It’s my… I guess, duty, in a way. Surely you can understand that as a Daxamite.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “You have all these powers… you could have been a conqueror… a god… but instead you choose to do… public service?!”

Kara rolled her eyes. “Not everyone enjoys waging wars and subjugating weaker planets, you know?” She touched her hand to her chest. “Do you remember my House’s crest?”

He nodded.

“It stands for _Hope_ in Kryptonian, for being stronger together. Every day, I try my best to live by my family’s crest. It’s something I believe in with all of my heart.” She caught his eyes and held it. “So yes, you’re right, I do have the power to take over Earth as easily and whenever I want to. But instead of being the embodiment of death, or war, or whatever it is you Daxamites revere, I’d rather be hope—something that people can look up to, something that can change their lives for the better.”

Mon-El went quiet for a moment. “Is that what you think of Daxamites?” he asked. “That all we do is wage war and death?”

“Well…” Kara stuttered, not expecting such a question. “It’s not like I’ve seen otherwise.”

“Clearly not,” his annoyed tone returned as he stood up onto his feet. “What do you know, in your sheltered little corner of the galaxy? The universe is vastly bigger than Earth and Krypton combined, _Princess_.”

Kara got up onto her feet as well. “I know that! And I told you to stop calling me Princess!” Her fists clenched at the side of her dress. “Rao! You’re infuriating!”

“And you’re acting like a child, blind to the world but the little farmland you grew up in,” he snapped back, refusing to back down, the two of them ending up glaring at each other for the next few moments, neither willing to bulge.

She folded her arms over her chest and said. “We’re done eating, it’s time to head back to the party.”

He nodded and they left the balcony behind.

The rest of the day went by uneventfully. Kara spent most of her remaining time at the far end of the hall, watching the crowd flowing past in harmonious _Rezrook_. Every so often, a Daxamite nobleperson would approach, extending arms and bowing in respect. She would greet them back with an awkward smile, and remembering Magister Prekliuem’s lessons, take their hands in hers and bow as well. Most of the Daxamites though, left her alone—some still with curious stares, but others, as though their attention span had already moved on, seemed to have forgotten her by then.

Mon-El rotated between standing by her side and conversing with a few of the approaching nobleman, occasionally introducing a distant cousin or two. While Mon-El looked like he couldn’t wait to leave the place, Kar-Gand, on the other hand, was having a blast. The party was held in his honor, and evident by the large crowd gathered around him—was the life of it.

In a way, Kara was glad of the attention Kar-Gand drew away from her. She definitely did not want to switch places. After a while, and greeting more than three dozen Daxamite nobilities, all the faces around her started to blend with one another, and she prayed she wouldn’t need to remember their names for a later date. For now, she was content with waiting at the corner of the hall, waiting out the rest of the party, the sooner the better.

It was night when they departed the party. There was no day-night cycle on the moon, but Kara could feel it, the growing sense of weariness that’d crept into her body over the long hours, along with the persistent ache in her ankles, a mixture of her recovering injury and the uncomfortable heels that she wore.

She followed Mon-El to the shuttle they’d arrived in, and with a long, final look at the _Rezrook_ —which still flowed on as the moment it started—Kara lifted her dress and stepped into the vehicle.

They were quiet on the journey back, a scene almost perfectly mirroring their arrival, until Kara couldn’t stand how uncomfortable her heels were and started to fidget in her seat, constantly trying to find a better position to rest her leg. The constant movement caused her dress to ruffle against her seat—and in that tiny, enclosed space, it was as loud as setting off fireworks.

Mon-El closed his eyes for a long second, then exhaled through his nose. “Just take them off,” he said.

“What?”

“Your heels,” he said. “If you are uncomfortable with them, just take them off. There is no need to feign appearances when we are alone. Do what you must.”

“N-No? I’m not uncomfortable!” Kara said, feeling a sudden bout of embarrassment from the turn of events. To be honest, she would have liked nothing more than to take off her heels and rest her legs on the cushioned space in front of her, but now that he’d mentioned it, she felt weirdly defensive of her actions. “I… I’m not uncomfortable,” she said, brushing aside his suggestion, though sounding like she was trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to convince him. She crossed her arms. “You’re clearly mistaken.”

He shrugged and looked away, attention moving onto something else scrolling past on his datapad, acting like all he’d done was to offer a suggestion, nothing more beyond that, and that he couldn’t have cared less about what she would have done with it.

His nonchalant reaction had Kara gritting her teeth in anger… because Mon-El wasn’t wrong. She wasn’t used to wearing such uncomfortable heels, much less for long periods of time. Even back on Earth when she had to attend glamorous CatCo office parties, she would—much to her boss’s chagrin—show up in the most comfortable, boring flats.

While she had plenty of dress options back in her room, there were fewer alternatives in the case of heels, and while she did pick out the least uncomfortable pair she could find, it was still a lot more uncomfortable than any of the ones she’d worn back on Earth.

She glared at Mon-El for a long second, daring him to say anything else. When he did not look up from his datapad, she thought of enduring the discomfort and ignoring him all the way back to the Gand Tower, but after another five minutes or so of discomfort, she decided that her defiance wasn’t at all worth the pain.

She reached down between their legs and unstrapped her heels; they clattered noisily to the floor, and a huge sigh of relief followed afterwards. She lightly inspected her sore ankles; her right leg was fine, but she grimaced at the left, noticing a slightly reddened swelling at the portion where Mon-El had struck a few days back.

The injury had mostly healed in the days that passed, but the tight heels along with all the jostling and stumbling during _Rezrook_ seemed to have aggravated it all over again. She tried to twirl her ankle around like she would during a warmup before a run, but there wasn’t much space in the tiny cabin for her to stretch her muscles, at least without lifting her entire leg up onto the seat across from her—where Mon-El sat. So, not the most optimal decision.

Instead, Kara sat there quietly, trying to alleviate the soreness in her ankle with the smallest movements, trying not to draw too much attention from Mon-El, when he suddenly shifted from his seat, their knees grazing as he leaned towards her, hands reaching around the side of her ankles.

Kara tensed at the sudden contact, instinctively wanting to pull away. But strangely, with the memory of how carefully he’d taken care of her ankle the first-time round, she ended up completely still. “W-What are you doing?” she asked.

He didn’t provide a response, but looked straight at her as his fingers pushed lightly into the side of her ankles, digging into the tensed muscles. “Let me know if the pain is too much,” he said, the soft repeating motion of his hands quickly alleviating the pain in her ankles. It was a simple ankle massage, but after a long day in those heels, there was nothing better, and Mon-El seemed to know exactly what he was doing. His hands moved in slow, rhythmic circles, pushing into her sore tendons, easing at the strained muscles.

“ _Ah_ ,” it wasn’t until Kara heard the soft mewl that slipped from her lips echoing in the tiny cabin space that she realized the sound she’d made. Her eyes squeezed shut immediately from embarrassment, waiting a long, awkward second to pass before peeking one open, only to receive no visible reaction from Mon-El at all.

He did not seem to have noticed, or perhaps, was just ignoring her as usual.

“So…” she started to say, trying her best not to further embarrass herself by distracting them both with conversation. “How are you so good with your hands-… this?” She cringed again; it sounded a lot better in her head.

“My… Mother. I used to…” he said, before pausing in mid-sentence. His lips twitched for a moment, and when he spoke again, it was done so in a careful manner, as if each word carefully chosen for the occasion. “When my father’s transgressions were discovered, I was brought to the palace with my mother. There were many… procedures, as you may have imagined, and my mother, who’d grown up without luxury, who’d never worn a pair of heels in her life, ended up having to wear them for appearance’s sake, some of which lasted hours, some even up to days.”

His hands stopped for a second. “My mother never complained, never took her heels off. Not when her feet ended up bruised and bleeding, not even when her injuries were so severe, she was bedbound for weeks.” There was no hiding the clear anger in his eyes. Then he swallowed, and his eyes softened. “So… I learned to help, to make things easier for her in any way I can.”

“I… I see,” she nodded. There were a hundred different things running through Kara’s head, but none she could quite find the words for. What he said had left her speechless, and there was nothing else she could do but sit there quietly, her ankles in his hands until they returned to the Gand Tower.

Lyra and X’Garr greeted them at the entrance. Kara exited the shuttle, still barefooted as Mon-El got out beside her.

“Your mother,” Kara said softly, thinking of the parallels between the woman and herself. “She sounds amazing. Will I get to meet her?”

“Yes,” he said, without looking at her. “When we get to Daxam. You will… see her.” Then, he passed her back her shoes and, with a quick bow, left in the opposite direction.

She watched him leave before limping back to her own room.

It was really late by then, and Kara’s tiredness was hitting back in full swing. Deciding to take a quick shower before heading to bed, she stepped into the bathroom, which lit warmly at her presence. She turned on the shower before stopping in her tracks, attention caught by her own reflection.

She stood there for the longest time, staring at the mirror, at her own messy hair to the dress that she wore, unable to get Mon-El’s words out from her head.

_“…and my mother, who’d grown up without luxury, who’d never worn a pair of heels in her life, ended up having to wear them for appearance’s sake, some of which lasted hours, some even up to days…”_

She knew Mon-El was a bastard prince, borne not of wedlock but Kell’riv-Gand’s affair with an unwed woman. But she’d never imagined him in the way of which he’d spoken of himself—as a young child taking care of his mother, someone so unlike the spoilt little prince she’d always pictured him as—a family not of nobility and luxury, but poverty.

And the way he’d talked of his mother being dressed up for appearance’s sake… the pain she saw so clearly in his eyes…

 _Was that the reason for his indifference in the clothing she’d chosen? Did he experience his mother going through the exact same things as well?_ She’d hoped to goad him by choosing the lesser of two dresses, but now that she thought about it, she realized he had not made even a single comment on her decision. She’d thought that he didn’t care for what she wore, as long as it was appropriate, but now, after learning of the similar experiences that his mother went through as well…

She didn’t know what to think… and in the minutes soon after she stepped into the shower, gone quickly were those thoughts, much like her own reflection in the shower’s fog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [rewrite not beta-ed let me know if you spot any mistakes]
> 
> as usual, if you'd like to see story-update-progresses, little snippets of next chapters, or if you'd like to talk about my stories, tv shows, or just life in general, you can find me @ shipwreckinabottle on tumblr.


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